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Now Appearing, Regularly. 

CHOICE AUTOBIOGRAPHIES. 

EDITED BY WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. 



"Little Classic" Style. - ■ - $1.25 a voliune. 



This series of the best autobiographies is prepared especially 
for family reading. Each life is prefaced with a critical and 
biographical essay by Mr. Howells, in which the sequel of the 
author's history is given, together with collateral matter from 
other sources, illustrative of his period and career. In some 
cases the autobiographies are reduced in bulk by the rejection 
of uninteresting and unimportant matter. It is designed to 
include in the series the famous autobiographies of all lan- 
guages, and to offer in a compact and desirable edition aU that 
is best in this most charming of all literature. 



JAMES E. OSGOOD & CO., Publishers, Boston. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



LIVES 



LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 

WITH ESSAYS 

By WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. 



BOSTON: 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 
1877. 






COPYRIGHT. 

W. D. HOWELLS. 

1877. 



Gift 

Miss M. C. Codman 

March 1014 



University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 
Cambridge. 



THE LIFE OF 



EDWAED LOED HEEBEET OF CHEEBUEY. 



TO THE MOST NOBLE 

HENEY AETHUE HEEBEET, 

EARL OF POWIS, 

VISCOUNT LUDLOW, LOED HEEBEKT OP CHEEBUKT, BAEON POWIS AND 

LUDLOW, 

AND TEEASUEEE OE HIS MAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD. 

My Loed, 

Permit me to oflfer to your Lordship in this more durable 
manner the very valuable present I received from your hands. 
To your Lordship your great ancestor owes his revival; and 
suffer me, my Lord, to teU the world what does you so much 
honor, you have given him and me leave to speak truth ; an 
indulgence which I am sorry to say few descendants of heroes 
have minds noble enough to aUow, 

Hitherto Lord Herbert has been little known but as an 
author. I much mistake if hereafter he is not considered as 
one of the most extraordinary characters which this country 
has produced. Men of the proudest blood shall not blush to 
distinguish themselves in letters as well as arms, when they 
learn what excellence Lord Herbert attained in both. Your 
Lordship's lineage at least will have a pattern before their eyes 
to excite their emulation : and while they admire the piety 



VIU DEDICATION. 

with wMcli you have done justice to your common ancestor, 
they cannot be forgetful of the obligation they will have to 
your Lordship's memory for transmitting to them this record 
of his glory. 

I have the honor to be, 

My Lord, 
Your Lordship's 

most obedient, 
and most obliged servant, 

HORACE WALPOLE. 




EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 




N many passages the autobiography of Lord 
Herbert is of a style so chaniiing, and of a 
manner and matter so singularly characteristic 
of his order J age, and nation, that one might 
easily believe it written by some skilful student of the 
period, with a tacit modern consciousness of the won- 
derful artistic success of the study. As you read, you 
cannot help thinking now and then that Thackeray 
himself could not have done it better, if he had been 
minded to portray a gentleman of the first James's time. 
Yet this picture, so frank, so boldly colored, so full of 
the very life of a young English noble, is one of the 
most remarkable instances of self-portraiture in any 
language, in the absence of that consciousness which 
the momentarily bewildered sense attributes to it ; its 
great value to the reader of our day is, that the author 
sits to himself as unconstrainedly as if posterity should 
never come to look over his shoulder, and all his atti- 
tudes and expressions are those of natural ease. A 
rare sincerity marlvs the whole memoir, and gives it the 
grace of an antique simplicity. Where Lord Herbert 
praises his own courage, and teUs with full circumstan- 



2 EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 

stances of his feats of arms, you feel that he is "but doing 
himself justice, and are no more disposed to smile than 
if you had heard of his prowess from another. He is 
equally frank as to his faults and his virtues ; if the 
latter outnumher the former in his count, you are pretty 
certain that he has not erred. He is the farthest re- 
move from a coxcomb in this story of his life, though 
some of the actions he records were reckless and even 
foolhardy, and his morals are often of the worldliest sort. 
Honor, not righteousness, was his first care } he was at 
any time ready to die for the respect due him from other 
men ; but what he exacted, he endeavored fairly to 
render again, though rather as the obligation of a gen- 
tleman than as the duty of a Christian. Indeed he was 
no Christian at all. He wrote a book to prove that 
there was no such thing as direct revelation, though he 
prayed for a sign from heaven before he published his 
book, — an inconsistency is not grosser than others of 
his, or those of other men. He loved virtue, and he 
expressly declares that goodness is to be preferred before 
knowledge, since it will make one's way ''better both 
to happiness in this world and the next." He was not 
a Christian, and yet he M^as deeply religious, and there 
is a vein of sweet, manly seriousness running through 
his thoughts of spiritual things such as should be in the 
thoughts of the brother of the gentle poet George Her- 
bert. His belief in the soul's immortality is firm, and 
the grounds of his faith are those to which men have 
always clung and must still cling when they cast aside 
the stay and consolation of a revealed faith. There 
exists in Lord Herbert's handwriting a prayer which it 
is supposed he used daily, and in which there is a rea- 
soned hope and a natural piety, together Mdth a spirit 
of the humblest and deepest reverence, which are very 



EDWAED LORD HEEBERT. 3 

touchingly expressed. This prayer is indeed the best 
exposition of his religious belief, and forms the most 
fitting comment on the passages of his memoir which 
deal with religious matters. 

God ! Thou, by whose power and wisdom all things at first 
were made, and by whose providence and goodness they are con- 
tinued and preserved, still behold, from thy everlasting dwell- 
ing above, me thy creature and inhabitant of this lower world, 
who from this valley of change and corruption, lifting up heart 
and eyes to thee his eternal God and Creator, does here ac- 
knowledge and confess these manifold blessings, these vast gifts 
bestowed on me ; as namely, that before I yet was, when I 
could neither kuow nor consent to be great and good, thy eter- 
nal providence had ordained me this being, by which I was 
brought into this world, a living, free, and reasonable creature, 
not senseless or brutish, but capable of seeing and understand- 
ing thy wondrous works herein ; and not only so, but of using 
and enjoying them in that plentiful measure wherein they have 
been hitherto afforded me. Lord, with all humbleness I con- 
fess, that wei'e there no other pledge of thy favor than this alone, 
it were more than any of thy creatm'es in this life can possibly 
deserve. 

But thy mercies go farther yet. Thou hast not only made 
me see, know, and partake thy works, but hast suffered me to 
love thee for the blessings showed us in them. I say, thou hast 
admitted frail dust and ashes to so high a dignity as to love thee, 
the infinite and eternal beauty. And not only disdainest it not, 
but acceptest, yea, and rewardest the same : and whence can 
this come, but from thy everlasting goodness, which, had it not 
vouchsafed to love me first, I could not have had the power (than 
which no man has no greater) of loving thee again. Yet here 
thy mercies stay not. Thou hast not only given me to know 
and love thee, but hast written in my heart a desire even to 
imitate and be like thee (as far as in this frail flesh I may), and 
not only so, but many ways enabled me to the performance of it. 



4 EDWAED LORD HERBERT. 

And from hence, Lord, with how much comfort do I learn the 
high estate I received in my creation, as heing formed in thine 
own similitude and likeness. But, Loi-d, thy mercies (for 
they are infinite) are not hounded even here. Thou hast, then, 
not only given me the means of knowing, loving, and imitat- 
ing thee in this life, hut hast given me the amhition of know- 
ing, loving, and imitating thee after this life ; and for that 
pui*pose hast hegun in me a desire of happiness, yea, of eternal 
hliss, and from thence proceeded to give me hope ; and not only 
so, hut also a faith which does promise and assure me, that since 
this desire can come from none but thee, nothing thou doest 
can he in vain. What shall I say, then, hut desire thee, 
Lord, to fulfil it in thy good time, to me thy unworthy crea- 
ture, who in this flesh can come no nearer thee than the desiring 
that mortality which both keeps me from thy abode, and makes 
me most unlike thee here. Amen. 

In the expression of Herljert's ideas concerning what 
it is fit a gentleman need and need not know — appar- 
ently the things in which Lord Herhert himself is and 
is not accomplished — there is a quaintness which is very 
delightful. I do not know where the reader should look 
in English literature for another picture of the times at 
all comparable to that which he will find in this me- 
moir. It is all the more interesting and valuable, 
because it is a picture not only of English but of con- 
tinental manners, in an age when there was a greater 
likeness in them than there is now, at least among 
'''people of quality." Their divergence in morality 
and the whole conduct of life is a fact of almost as recent 
date as the triumph of Puritanism. An English noble 
of Elizabeth's or James's court hardly found himself a 
stranger at that of Henry TV. or Louis XIII. Prot- 
estantism was still very new, and the balance for or 
against it was nowhere finally confirmed ; many of 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 5 

the first gentlemen of the French kingdom were of 
"the religion," and it had not yet begun greatly to 
modify the English aristocracy. It must be owned 
that the manners of the first society as we see them in 
Lord Herbert's memoir are not such as always to 
dazzle or awe the modern democrat : one finds them 
sometimes of an undignified rusticity, as in that in- 
stance where a French gentleman snatches a knot of 
ribbon from the hat of the daughter of the Duchess 
of Yentadour, and Herbert, whom the little dame begs 
to get it back for her, chases the Frenchman all about 
the meadow till he runs him down. To be sure, his 
lordship was ready to kill this indiscreet gentleman 
afterwards for his disrespect to the little lady. He 
was at all times ready to kill or be killed in such a 
cause, and this gallant eagerness to hazard life has its 
splendid aspect. Even when it is quixotic, as when 
Lord Herbert challenges the Grovernor of Lyons for 
arresting him (Herbert was recruiting men in France 
to fight in the Duke of Savoy's service), it is not 
altogether ridiculous. There is also a magnificence in 
the friendship of these fine personages, of which the 
reader will gain a pleasant idea from Herbert's ac- 
count of his intimacy with the Montmorencies. Even 
where they meet as enemies their intercourse has the 
glamour of a time when arms were the first accom- 
plishment of a gentleman, and war was still a polite 
distraction for people of quality, whatever it was for 
other people. 

Herbert, not only as James's ambassador to Louis 
XIII., but as a sort of soldier of fortune in the Low 
Countries, and a peaceful traveller in Italy, saw every- 
thing that was best worth seeing in the Europe of his 
day. After parting from his wife, who refused to go 



6 EDWAED LOED HEEBEET. 

and see the world with him, — his naive account of their 
separation is one of the most amusing passages of his 
autobiography, — he seems to have dedicated himself 
to the pleasures of travel and knight-errantry, and we 
find him everywhere resenting insult, observing life, 
and noting manners. He sketches now the beautitul 
daughter of an Italian inn-keeper, and gives now the 
pretty speech he made to a Venetian nun ; he tells of 
the superb state and unbending pride in which he 
maintains the English embassy at Paris ; he recounts 
the curious diplomacy by which he involves himself in 
a quarrel with Louis XIII.'s worthless favorite De 
Luynes, in fulfilment of the compact between James 
II. and Henry IV., that whichever outlived the other 
should watch over and advise his son ; he touches life 
at all points, and at all times he is charming. It is 
infinitely to be regretted that his autobiography closes 
before the time of his second embassy to the French 
court, whither he was sent to conclude the marriage 
between Charles I. and Henrietta Maria, after the 
failure of the Spanish match. But there exist some 
letters of Herbert's relating to this matter, which are 
curious, and very characteristic of himself and of the 
period. The letters are addressed to James I., and in 
one, of the date of August 24, 1677, the king is 
assured that the marriage is generally desired by the 
French nation, '^ and particularly by madame herselfe," 
— the Princess Henrietta Maria — ''who hath not 
only cast out many words to this purpose, but where 
there hath been a question of the diversity of relligions, 
hath sayd, that a wife ought to have no will, but that 
of her husband's," — complaisance as great as that cited 
by Thackeray of the Duchess of Hanover, who when 
asked of what religion her daughter was, replied that 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. < 

the princess was of no religion, as yet. But the 
daughter of Henry TV. may have justly felt that her 
father's change of faith, when he ahjured Protestant- 
ism for the sake of power, was an example which 
ought to have weight with her, and that a reason 
of state was sufficient reason. The Bourbons have 
since grown more tenacious of their belief, — having 
got the wrong one. The second letter of Herbert re- 
ferring to this marriage was written after Charles's 
return from his romantic journey to Spain, but beft)re 
the Spanish alliance was given up. It is interesting 
not upon this point alone, but in its reference to the 
hopes fixed by gentlemen of ''the religion" upon the 
cold-hearted pedant on the English throne, — hopes 
afterwards so terribly cheated at La Eochelle by Charles 
I. when he came to power. 

My most gracious Soveraigne, — Now that I thanke 
God for it, his highenes, accordiuge to my continuall prayers, 
hath made a safe and happy returne unto your sacred majestie's 
presence, I think myselfe bounde, by way of complete obedi- 
ence to those commandements I received from your sacred 
majestie, both by Mr. Secretarie Calvert and my brother Hen- 
ry, to give your sacred majestie an account of that sense which 
the generall sort of people doth entertaine here, concerninge 
the whole frame and contexte of his highnes voyage. It is 
agreed on all parts that his highnes must have received much 
contentment, in seeinge two great kingdomes, and consequently 
in enjoyinge that satisfaction which princes but rarely, and not 
without great perill obtain. His highnes discretion, ddigence, 
and princely behavior everywhere, likewise is much praysed. 
Lastly, since his highnes journey hath fallen out so well, that 
his highnes is come back without any prejudice to his person 
or dignitie : they say the succcsse hath sufficiently commended 
the counceil. This is the most common censure (even of the 
bigot party, as I am informed), which I approve in all, but in 



8 EDWARD LOED HERBERT. 

the last pointe, in the delivery whereof I ifinde somctliinge to 
dislike, and therfore tell them, that thinges are not to be 
judged alone by the successe, and that when they would not 
looke so highe as God's providence, without which no place is 
secure, they might finde even in reason of state, so much, as 
might sufficiently warrante his highnes person, and libertie to 
retume. 

I will come from the ordinarie voice, to the selecter judg- 
ment of the ministers of state, and more intelligent people in 
this kingdome, who though they nothinge vray from the above- 
recited opinion, yet as more profoundly lookinge into the state 
of this longe-treated-of aUyance betwiste your sacred majestic 
and Spaine, in the persons of his highnes and the infanta, they 
comprehende their sentence thereof (as I am informed) in three 
propositions. 

First, that the protestation, which the kinge of Spaine 
made to his highnes upon his departure, Avhereby he promised 
to chase away, and dis-favor all those who should oppose this 
marriage, doth extende no further, than to the sayd kinges ser- 
vants, or at furthest, not beyonde the temporall princes his 
neighbours, so that the pope, beinge not included herin, it is 
thought his consent must bee yet obtained, and consequently 
that the business is in little more forwardnes than when it first 
beganne. 

Secondly, that the pope will never yield his consent, unless 
your sacred majestic grante some notable privileges and advan- 
tage to the Roman Catholique relligion in your sacred majestie's 
kingedomes. 

Thirdly, that the sayd kinge of Spaine would never insiste 
upon obtaininge those privileges, but that hee more desires to 
forme a party in your sacred majestie's kingedomes, which he 
may keep always obsequious to his will, then to maintain a 
frendly correspondence betwixt your sacred majestic and him- 
selfe. I must not, in the last place, omitte to acquaint your 
sacred majestic very particularly with the sense which was ex- 
pressed by the bons Francois, and body of those of the religion, 



EDWAED LORD HERBEET. 9 

who hartily wishe that the same greatnes which the king of 
Spaine doth so affecte over all the worlde^ and still maintaines 
even in this country, which is to hee protector of the jesuited 
and higot parti e, your sacred majestie would embrace in beeing 
defender of our faithe. The direct answer to which, though I 
evade, and therfore reply little more, then that this counceil 
was much titter when the union in Germany did suhsiste than 
at this tyme ; yet do I think myselfe obliged to represente the 
aflFection they beare unto your sacred majestie. This is as 
much as is come to my notice, concerninge that pointe your 
sacred majestie gave mee in charge, which therfore I have plainly 
layd open before your sacred majestie's eyes, as understandinge 
well, that princes never receive greater wronge, then when the 
ministers they putte in truste do palliate and disguise those 
thinges which it concernes them to knowe. For the avoydinge 
w^herof, let me take the boldnes to assure your sacred majestie 
that those of this king's counceil here will use all means they 
can, both to the king of Spaine, and to the pope (in whom 
they pretend to have very particular interest), not only to in- 
terrupte, but yf it be possible, to breake off your sacred majes- 
tie's allyance with Spaine. For which purpose the Count de 
Tillieres hath stricte' commande to give eether all punctuall 
advice, that accordingly they may proceede. It rests that I 
most humbly beseech your sacred majestie to take my free rela- 
tion of these particulars in good part, since I am of no faction, 
nor have any passion or interest, but faithfully to performe 
that service and dutie which I owe to your sacred majestie, for 
whose perfect health and happiness I pray, with the devotion of 
Your sacred majestie's 
Most obedient, most loyall, and most affectionate subject 
and servant, 

Herberi. 

From Meelou Castle, the 31st of October, 1623. 

After his return from France, upon the conclusion of 
the marriage between Charles and Henrietta, Herbert 
was created, in 1625, an Irish peer, and then, in 1631, 



10 EDWAED LORD HEKBERT. 

a peer of England, with the title of Lord Herbert, 
Baron of Cherbury in Shropshire. It has been con- 
jectured by an earlier editor of his memoir that he lost 
his interest at court after the assassination of Bucking- 
ham, who was his friend. At any rate, he hved in a 
retirement scarcely broken till the troubles between 
Charles and his Parliament began. He was at first 
inclined to favor the kingj but he afterguards sided 
with Parliament, and suffered the resentment of the 
royahsts. He marched with the army of Parliament 
into Scotland in 1639, but he did not take a conspicu- 
ous part in the war. He received the castle of Mont- 
gomery in requital of his losses by the king's troops, 
and he lived on his estates throughout the troubles in a 
quiet to which his feeble health perhaps obliged him. 
He died in 1648, in London. Although he was not a 
Christian, he had prayers twice a day in his household, 
and a sermon on Sundays ; now when he came to die, 
he sent for the Lord Primate of Ireland, then in Lon- 
don, to give him the sacrament, saying that if it did 
no good, it could do no harm. The primate refused to 
administer it upon these terms. Herbert made no 
answer, but asked the time, and saying, '^An hour 
hence I shall depart," turned his face to the wall and 
'■'' expired with great serenity." 

I have kept in the present edition the dedication and 
advertisement with which Horace Walpole first gave 
to the world Lord Herbert's autobiography, and in 
which the reader will find much interesting infonna- 
tion, as well as valuable comment on the author. 
Herbert published many other books, none of which, I 
believe, are read in our time. His work, ' ' De Veritate," 
in which he denied Scriptural revelation, upon the au- 
thority of direct revelation to himself, made trouble 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 11 

and confutation enough. Baxter, Haliburton, and 
Locke replied to it ; but it has long been superseded 
by other doubts and arguments. His '' De Religione 
Gentilium," exposing the errors of paganism, is equally- 
dead; neither his '^ Expeditio Buckinghami Ducis in 
Oleam Insulam," nor his ''Life and Reign of Henry 
the Eighth," are current, or, out of antiquarian libra- 
ries, even standard literature, though the latter was 
written at King James's command. Walpole calls it 
a masterpiece of historical biography. Hallam, also in 
his '^ Introduction to the Literature of Europe," speaks 
of this history as ''a book of good authority and writ- 
ten in a manly and judicious spirit." He finds the 
^'De Religione Glentilium," even more ''inimical to 
every positive religion " than the "De Veritate," and 
declares that Herbert "damns as summarily as any 
theologian " those heathen who do not accept his five 
fundamental truths, to wit: that there is a supreme 
Grod ; that he is to be worshipped ; that virtue and piety 
are the chief elements of this worship 5 that sins are to 
be repented and eschewed ; that good and evil will be 
rewarded and punished in this life and the next. These 
truths form the basis of Herbert's arguments in both 
works ; but in " De Veritate," Hallam complains of his 
metaphysical obscurity, and confesses that he has the 
greatest difficulty in following and restating his phil- 
osophy. 

Herbert's account of Buckingham's expedition ap- 
pears to be hardly more than an inefifectual defence of 
that favorite's failure to relieve La Rochelle, in which 
the French Protestants were holding out against Riche- 
lieu. A volume of our author's " Occasional Verses," 
published by his son, has long gone the way of an 
incalculable mass of other occasional verses. I judge 



12 EDWARD LOKD HERBEllT. 

from certain sonnets, that tliey were not easy to read ; 
they are sonnets strictly of his century, full of meta- 
physical conceits and painfulnesses, as any one may 
see from the examples below : — 

TO A YOUNG PALE BEAUTY. 

From thy pale look, while angry love doth seem 

"With more imperiousnessto give his law, 
Than where he blushingly doth beg esteem ; 

We may observe tried beauty in such awe, 
That the brav'st colour under her command 

Affrighted, oft before you doth retire ; 
While, like a statue of yourself you stand 

In such symmetrique form, as doth require 
No lustre but its own ; as then, in vain. 

One should flesh colouring to statues add. 
So were it to your native white a stain 

If it in other ornaments were clad. 
Than what your rich proportions do give, 

Which in a boundless fair being unconfin'd. 
Exalted in your soul, so seem to live. 

That they become an emblem of your mind; 
That so, who to your orient white should join 

Those fading qualities most eyes adore. 
Were but like one who, gilding silver coin. 

Gave but occasion to suspect it more. 

TO HIS WATCH, WHEN HE COULD NOT SLEEP. 

Uncessant minutes, whilst you move, you tell 
The time that tells our life, which, though it run 
Never so fast or far, your new begun 

Short steps shall overtake : for though life well 

May 'scape his OAvn account, it shall not yours. 
You are death's auditors, that both divide 

And sum whate'er that life inspir'd endures. 
Past a beginning ; and through you we bide 



EDWARD LOED HERBERT. 13 

The doom of fate, wliose uarecall'd decree 

You date, bring, execute ; making what 's new, 
111 ; and good, old ; for as we die in you. 

You die in time, time in eternity. 

The epitaph, on himself is a yet tougher morsel : — 

Reader, 

The monument which thou beholdest here. 

Presents Edward, Lord Herbert, to thy sight ; 
A man, who was so free from either hope or fear. 

To have or lose this ordinary light. 
That when to elements his body turned were. 

He knew that as those elements would fight. 
So his immortal soul should tind above 
With his Creator, peace, joy, truth, and love ! 

No one reader, I think, will make Herbert's acquaint- 
ance in this frank and hearty memoir without great 
liking and respect. He was, as Ben Jonson said, 
''many men "in one, yet each of his several selves 
had some virtue to take regard ; even his faults are of 
the sort which men forgive, and women love. I have 
flattered myself that in grouping him with the sturdy 
Quaker Ellwood, I have furnished the reader an easy 
means for a comparison which will not be unfair to 
either of them. They are both characters of the most 
distinct type, of a like heroic mould in many things, 
and of a similar devoutness, however diverse in their 
theories of religion and of life ; it were hard to say 
which is the worst poet. Herbert represents the last 
phase of chivalry, the essence of which lingered in 
his heart and influenced his conduct, while his daring 
intellect questioned the highest things, and infinitely 
removed him from medievalism. He was of the cosmo- 



14 EDWAED LOED HEEBEET. 

politan nobility, which found itself at home anywhere 
in the world of courts and cainps ; and he was patri- 
cian to the last drop of his blood. EUwood was of the 
new dispensation which shunned the world, which bade 
men fashion themselves on Christ's example, and ab- 
horred arms and vanities. His sect goes forward to 
an early extinction, but its animating spirit can never 
die out of the world ; it must prevail and rule at last. 
The courtier is picturesque and romantic, in a degree 
which takes the artistic sense with keen delight ; the 
Quaker is good and beautiful, with a simple right- 
eousness that comforts and strengthens the soul. 




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ADVERTISEMENT 




OME years ago the following pages would 
have been reckoned one of the greatest pres- 
ents which the learned world could have 
received. The Life of the famous Lord Her- 
hert of Cherbury, written by himself, would have 
excited the curiosity of the whole republic of letters. 
Perhaps a less proportion of expectation may attend 
this its late appearance. Not that the abilities of the 
noble writer have fallen into disesteem. His Reign of 
Henry the Eighth is allowed to be a masterpiece of his- 
toric biography. But they were his speculative works 
which, raising a multitude of admirers or censors from 
their acuteness and singularity, made Lord Herbert's a 
name of the first importance. The many great men 
who illustrated the succeeding period have taken off 
some of the public attention ; for it is only a genius of 
the first force whose fame dilates with ages, and can 
buoy itself up above the indifference which steals upon 
mankind as an author becomes less and less the subject 
of conversation. Speculative writers, however pene- 
trating, however sublime their talents, seldom attain 
the seal of universal approbation^ because, of all the 



16 ADVERTISEMENT. 

, various abilities which Providence has bestowed on 
man, reasoning is not the power which has been brought 
to standard perfection. Poetry and eloquence have 
been so far perfected that the great masters in those 
branches still remain unequalled. But where is that 
book of human argumentation, where that system of 
human opinions^ which has not been partly confuted or 
exploded ? Novelty itself in matters of metaphysical 
inquiry offen proves, in effect, a confutation of antece- 
dent novelties. Opponents raise the celebrity of the 
doctrines they attack : newer doctrines stifle that celeb- 
rity. This is a truth which the bigots of Lord Her- 
bert's age would not have liked to hear ; but what has 
happened to many other great men has been his fate 
too : they who meant to M^ound his fame extended it ; 
when the cry of enthusiasts was drawn off to fresher 
game, his renown grew fainter. His moral character 
recgvered its lustre, but has fewer spectators to gaze 
at it. 

This introduction to his life may not be improper, 
though at first it may mislead the reader, who will 
hence perhaps expect from his own pen some account 
of a person's creed, whom a few sottish zealots once 
represented as having none at all. His lordship's 
thorough belief and awful veneration of the Deity will 
clearly appear in these pages ; but neither the unbeliever 
nor the monk will have farther satisfaction. This life 
of a philosopher is neither a deduction of his opinions 
nor a table of philosophy. I will anticipate the read- 
er's surprise, though it shall be but in a M'ord : to his 
astonishment he Mdll find that the history of Don 
Quixote was the life of Plato. 

The noble family which gives these sheets to the 
world is above the little prejudices which make many 



ADVERTISEMENT. 17 

a race defraud the public of what was designed for it 
by those who alone had a right to give or withhold. 
It is above suppressing what Lord Herbert dared to tell. 
Foibles, passions, perhaps some vanity, surely some 
wrongheadedness, — these he scorned to conceal, for he 
sought truth; wrote on truth, was truth. He honestly 
told when he had missed or mistaken it. His descend- 
ants, not blind to his faults, but through them conduct- 
ing the reader to his virtues, desire the world to make 
this candid observation with them : '^ That there must 
have been a wonderfLil fund of internal virtue, of strong 
resolution, and manly philosophy, which, in an age of 
such mistaken and barbarous gallantry, of such absurd 
usages and false glory, could enable Lord Herbert to 
seek fame better founded, and could make him reflect 
that there might be a more desirable kind of glory than 
that of a romantic duellist." None shut their eyes so 
obstinately against seeing what is ridiculous as they 
who have attained a mastery in it ; but that was not 
the case of Lord Herbert. His valor made him a hero, 
be the heroism in vogue what it would ; his sound parts 
made him a philosopher. Few men in truth have 
figured so conspicuously in lights so various ; and his 
descendants, though they cannot approve him in every 
walk of glory, would perhaps injure his memory if they 
suffered the world to be ignorant that he was formed 
to shine in every sphere into which his impetuous tem- 
perament or predominant reason conducted him. 

As a soldier, he won the esteem of those great cap- 
tains the Prince of Orange and the Constable de Mont- 
morency ; as a knight, his chivalry was drawn from 
the purest fonts of the Fairy Queen. Had he been 
ambitious, the beauty of his person would have carried 
him as far as any gentle knight can aspire to go. As 



18 ADVERTISEMENT. 

a public minister, he supported the dignity of his coun- 
try, even when its prince disgraced it ; and that he was 
qualified to M^rite its annals as well as to ennoble them, 
the history I have mentioned proves, and must make 
us lament that he did not complete, or that we have 
lost, the account he purposed to give of his embassy. 
These busy scenes were blended with and terminated 
by meditation and philosophic inquiries. Strip each 
period of its excesses and errors, and it will not be easy 
to trace out or dispose the life of a man of quality into 
a succession of employments which would better be- 
come him. Valor and military activity in youth ; busi- 
ness of state in the middle age ; contemplation and 
labors for the information of posterity in the calmer 
scenes of closing life. - This was Lord Herbert : the 
deduction he will give himself. 

The MS. was in great danger of being lost to the 
world. Henry Lord Herbert, grandson of the author, 
died in 1691 without issue, and by his will left his estate 
to Francis Herbert of Oakly Park (father of the present 
Earl of Powis), his sister's son. At Lymore, in Mont- 
gomeryshire (the chief seat of the family after Crom.- 
well had demolished Montgomery Castle), was preserved 
the original manuscript. Upon the marriage of Henry 
Lord Herbert with a daughter of Francis, Earl of Brad- 
ford, Lymore, with a considerable part of the estate 
thereabouts, was allotted for her jointure. After his 
decease Lady Herbert usually resided there ; she died 
in 1714. The MS. could then not be found ; yet while 
she lived there, it was known to have been in her 
hands. Some years afterwards it was discovered at 
Lymore among some old papers, in very bad condition ; 
several leaves being torn out and others stained to such 
a degree as to make it scarcely legible. Under these 



ADVERTISEMENT. 19 

circumstances inquiry was made of the Herberts of 
llibbisfortl (desc^ended from Sir Henry Herbert, a 
younger brother of the author lord) in rehition to a 
duplicate of the memoirs, which was confidently said 
to be in their custody. It was allowed that such a 
duplicate had existed, but no one could recollect what 
was become of it. At last, about the year 1737, this 
book was sent to the Earl of Powis by a gentleman, 
whose father had purchased an estate of Henry Herbert 
of Eibbisford (son of Sir Henry Herbert above-men- 
tioned), in whom was revived in 1694 the title of Cher- 
bury, which had been extinguished in 1691. By him 
(after the sale of the estate) some few books, pictures, 
and other things were left in the house and remained 
there to 1737. This manuscript was amongst them ; 
which, not only by the contents (as far as it was pos- 
sible to collate it with the original), but by the simili- 
tude of the writing, appeared to be the duplicate so 
much sought after. 

Being written when Lord Herbert was past sixty. 
the work was probably never completed. A few notes 
have been added, to point out tlie most remarkable 
persons mentioned in the text. The style is remarkably 
good for that age, which, coming between the nervous 
and expressive manliness of the preceding century and 
the purity of the present standard, partook of neither. 
His lordship's observations are new and acute ; some 
very shrewd, as that to the Due de Guise ; his dis- 
course on the Reformation very wise. To the French 
confessor his reply was spirited ', indeed, his behavior 
to Luynes, and all his conduct, gave ample evidence of 
his constitutional fire. But nothing is more marked 
than the air of veracity or persuasion which runs through 
the whole narrative. If he make us wonder, and won- 



20 ADVERTISEMENT. 

der make us doubt, the charm of his ingenuous integrity 
dispels our hesitation. The whole relation throws 
singular light on the manners of the age, though the 
gleams are transient. In those manners nothing is 
more striking than the strange want of police in this 
country. I will not point out instances, as I have 
already perhaps too much opened the contents of a 
book which, if it give other readers half the pleasure it 
afforded me, they will own themselves extraordinarily 
indebted to the noble person by whose favor I am 
permitted to communicate to them so great a curiosity. 





THE LIFE OP 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT 



OF CHERBURY. 




DO believe that if all my ancestors had set 
down their lives in writing, and left them to 
posterity, many documents necessary to he 
known of those who both participate of their 
natural inclinations and humors, must in all proba- 
bility run a not much different course, might have 
been given for their instruction; and certainly it 
vnll be found much better for men to guide themselves 
by such observations as their father, grandfather and 
great-grandfather might have delivered to them, than 
by those vulgar rules and examples which cannot in 
all points so exactly agree unto them. Therefore, 
whether their life M^ere private, and contained only 
precepts necessary to treat with their children, ser- 
vants, tenants, kinsmen, and neighbors, or employed 
abroad in the university, or study of the law, or in the 
court, or in the camp, their heirs might have benefited 
themselves more by them than by any else ; for 



22 THE LIFE OF 

which reason I have thought fit to relate to my po's- 
terity those passages of my life which I conceive may 
best declare me, and be most useful to them. In the 
delivery of which I profess to write with all truth and 
sincerity, as scorning ever to deceive or speak false to 
any, and therefore detesting it much more where I am 
under obligation of speaking to those so near me ; and 
if this be one reason for taking my pen in hand at this 
time, so as my age is now past threescore, it will be fit 
to recollect my former actions, and examine what had 
been done well or ill, to the intent I may both reform 
that which was amiss, and so make my peace with 
God, as also comfort myself in those things which, 
through God's great grace and favor, have been done 
according to the rules of conscience, virtue, and honor. 
Before yet I bring myself to this account, it will be 
necessary I say somewhat concerning my ancestors, as 
far as the notice of them is come to me in any credible 
way; of whom yet I cannot say much, since I was but 
eight years old when my grandfather died, and that my 
father lived but about four years after; and that for the 
rest I have lived for the most part from home, it is 
impossible I should have that entire knowledge of their 
actions which might inform me sufficiently. I shall 
only therefore relate the more known and undoubted 
parts of their lives.* 

My father was Richard Herbert, Esq., son to Ed- 
ward Herbert, Esq., and grandchild to Sir Eichard 

* Tliongh his lordship, accordinpr to his scrnpulotis exactness, would 
set down nothing rehitiiig to his ancestors bnt what was of undonbted 
notoriety, yet it is probable that he had some memorials of his family in 
writing; for Dugdale in his Baronage, Vol. IT. p. 25fi, edit, of 1676, quotes 
a curious passage relating to the family's assumption of the name of Her- 
bert from a manuscript book which he had seen in the hands of our 
author, Lord Herbert. 



EDWARD LOED HERBERT. 23 

Herbert, Kut., who was a younger son of Sir Richard 
Herbert, of Colebrook, in Monmouthshire, of all whom 
I shall say a little. And first of my father, whom 
I remember to have been black-haired and bearded, 
as all my ancestors of his side are said to have been, 
o-f a manly or somewhat stem look, but withal very 
handsome and well compact in his limbs, and of a 
great courage, whereof he gave proof, when he was 
so barbarously assaulted by many men in the church- 
yard at Llanerfyl, at what time he would have ap- 
prehended a man who denied to appear to justice ; 
fjr defending himself against them all, by the help 
only of one John ap Howell Corbet, he chased his 
adversaries until a villain, coming behind him, did 
over the shoulders of others wound him on the 
head behind with a forest bill until he fell down, 
though recovering himself again, notwithstanding his 
skull was cut through to the pia mater of the brain, 
he saw his adversaries fly away, and after walked 
home to his house at Llyssyn, where, after he was 
cured, he offered a single combat to the chief of the 
family, by whose procurement it was thought the 
mischief was committed; but, he disclaiming wholly 
the action as not done by his consent, which he offered 
to testify by oath, and the villain himself flying into 
Ireland, whence he never returned, my father desisted 
from prosecuting the business any farther in that kind, 
and attained, notwithstanding the said hurt, that health 
and strength that he returned to his former exercises 
in a country life, and became the father of many chil- 
dren. As for his integrity in his places of deputy lieu- 
tenant of the county, justice of the peace, and custos 
rotulorum, which he, as my grandfother before him, 
held, it is so memorable to this day that it was said his 



24 THE LIFE OF 

enemies appealed to him for justice, which they also 
found on all occasions. His learning was not vulgar, 
as understanding well the Latin tongue, and being well 
versed in history. My grandfather was of a various 
life : beginning first at court, where, after he had spent 
most part of his means, he became a soldier, and made 
his fortune with his sword at the siege of St. Quintens 
in France and other wars, both in the north and in the 
rebellions happening in the times of King Edward the 
Sixth and Queen Mary, with so good success that he not 
only came off still with the better, but got so much 
money and wealth a& enabled him to buy the greatest 
part of that livelihood which is descended to me; 
though yet I hold some lands which his mother, the 
Lady Ann Herbert, purchased, as appears by the deeds 
made to her by that name, which I can show ; and 
might have held more, which my grandfather sold 
underfoot at an under value in his youth, and might 
have been recovered by my father had my grandfather 
suffered him. My grandfather was noted to be a great 
enemy to the outlaws and thieves of his time, who 
robbed in great numbers in the mountains in Montgom- 
eryshire, for the suppressing of whom he went often 
both day and night to the places where they were ; con- 
cerning which, though many particulars have been told 
me, I shall mention one only. Some outlaws being 
lodged in an alehouse upon the hills of Llandinam, my 
grandfather and a few servants coming to apprehend 
them, the principal outlaw shot an arrow against my 
grandfather, which stuck in the j)ommel of his saddle ; 
whereupon my grandfather coming up to him with 
his sword in his hand, and taking him prisoner, he 
showed him the said arrow, bidding him look what he 
had done, whereof the outlaw was no farther sensible 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 25 

than to say he was sorry that he left his better bow 
at home, which he conceived would have carried his 
shot to his body ; but the outlaw, being brought to 
justice, suffered for it. My grandfather's power was 
so great in the country that divers ancestors of the 
better families now in Montgomeryshire were his ser- 
vants and raised by him. He delighted also much in 
hospitality, as having a very long table twice covered 
every meal with the best meats that could be gotten, 
and a very great family. It was an ordinary saying in 
the country at that time when they saw any fowl rise, 
*' Fly where thou wilt, thou wilt light at Black hall," 
which was a low building, but of great capacity, my 
grandfather erected in his age ; his father and himself 
in former times having lived in Montgomery Castle. 
Notwithstanding yet these expenses at home, he brought 
up his children well, married his daughters to the better 
sort of persons near him, bringing up his younger 
sons at the university ', from whence his son Matthew 
went to the Low Country wars, and after some time 
spent there came home and lived in the country at 
Dolegeog, upon a house and fair living which my 
grandfather bestowed upon him. His son also, Charles 
Herbert, after he had pased some time in the Low Coun- 
tries, likewise returned home, and was after married 
to an inheritrix, whose eldest son, called Sir Edward 
Herbert, Knt., is the king's attorney-general. His son 
George, who was of New College in Oxford, was very 
learned, and of a pious life, died in a middle age of 
a dropsy. . 

Notwithstanding all which occasions of expense, my 
grandfather purchased much lands, without doing any- 
thing yet unjustly or hardly, as may be collected by 
an offer I have publicly made divers times, having 



26 THE LIFE OF 

given my "bailiff in charge to proclaim to the country, 
that if any lands w^ere gotten by evil means, or so 
much as hardly, they should he compounded for, or 
restored again ; but to this day, never any man yet 
complained to me in this kind. He died at the age of 
fourscore or thereabouts, and was buried in Montgom- 
ery church, without having any monument made for 
him, which yet for my father is there set up in a 
fair manner. My great-grandfather, Sir Eichard Her- 
bert, was steward in the time of King Henry the 
Eighth, of the lordships and marches of North Wales, 
East Wales, and Cardiganshire, and had power, in a 
martial law, to execute offenders ; in the using thereof 
he was so just that he acquired to himself a singular 
reputation, as may appear upon the records of that 
time, kept in the paper-chamber at Whitehall, some 
touch whereof I have made in my " History of 
Henry the Eighth " ; of him I can say little more than 
that he likewise was a great suppressor of rebels, 
thieves, and outlaws, and that he was just and con- 
scionable; for if a false or cruel person had that 
power committed to his hands, he would have raised 
a great fortune out of it, whereof he left little, save 
what his father gave him, unto posterity. He lieth 
buried likewise in Montgomery; the upper monu- 
ment of the two placed in the chancel being erected 
for him. My great-great-grandfather. Sir Richard 
Herbert of Colebrook, was that incomparable hero who 
(in the history of Hall and Grafton,as it appears) twice 
passed through a great army of northern men alone, 
with his poll-axe in his hand, and returned without 
any mortal hurt, which is more than is famed of Ama- 
dis de Gaul, or the Knight of the Sun. I shall, besides 
this relation of Sir Richard Herbert's prowess in the 



EDWAKD LORD HERBERT. 27 

"bittle at Banbury or Edgecott Hill, — being the place 
where the late battle was fought, — deliver some tra- 
ditions concerning him, which 1 have received from good 
hands ; one is, that the said Sir Richard Herbert, being 
employed, together with his brother William, Earl of 
Pembroke, to reduce certain* rebels in North Wales, 
Sir Richard Herbert besieged a principal person of 
them at Harlech Castle in Merionethshire ; the captain 
of this place had been a soldier in the wars of France, 
whereupon he said he had kept a castle in France so 
long that he made the old women in Wales talk of 
him ', and that he would keep the castle so long that 
he would make the old women in France talk of him } 
and indeed, as the place M^as almost impregnable but 
by famine, Sir Richard Herbert was constrained to take 
him in by composition, he surrendering himself upon 
condition that Sir Richard Herbert should do what he 
could to save his life, which being accepted, Sir Rich- 
ard brought him to King Edward the Fourth, desiring 
his highness to give him a pardon, since he yielded 
up a place of importance, which he might have kept 
longer, upon this hope ', but the king replying to Sir 
Richard Herbert that he had no power by his commis- 
sion to pardon any, and therefore might, after the rep- 
resentation hereof to his majesty, safe deliver him up 
to justice, Sir Richard Herbert answered he had not 

* It was an insurrection in tlie ninth year of Edward the Fourth, 
headed by Sir John Coniers and Roliert Riddesdale, in favor of Henry 
the Sixth. This William, Earl of Pembroke, and his brother Sir Richard 
Herbert being sent against them, were to be joined by the Earl of Dev- 
onshire, but, a squabble happening between the two earls about quarters, 
tlie Earl of Devonshire separated from Pembroke, who, engaging the. 
enemy at Danesmoore near Edgecott in Northamptonshire, was defeated 
and taken prisoner, with his brother, and both were put to death, with 
Richard Wid\ ille, Earl Rivers, father of the queen, by command of the 
Dakcof Clarence and the Earl of Warwick, vvlio had revolted from Edward. 



28 THE LIFE OF 

yet done the best he could for him, and therefore most 
humbly desired his highness to do one of two things, 
either to put him again in the castle where he was, 
and command some other to take him out, or, if his 
highness would not do so, to take his life for the said 
captain's, that being the last proof he could give that 
he used his uttermost endeavor to save the said cap- 
tain's life. The king, finding himself urged thus far, 
gave Sir Richard Herbert the life of the said captain, 
but withal he bestowed no other reward for his service. 
The other history is that Sir Richard Herbert, 
together with his brother the Earl of Pembroke, 
being in Anglesey apprehending there seven brothers 
which had done many mischiefs and murders, in these 
times the Earl of Pembroke thinking it fit to root out 
so wicked a progeny, commanded them all to be 
hanged j whereupon the mother of them, coming to the 
Earl of Pembroke, upon her knees desired him to 
pardon two, or at leastwise one, of her said sons, affirm- 
ing that the rest were sufficient to satisfy justice or 
example, which request also Sir Richard Herbert sec- 
onded ; but the earl, finding them all equally guilty, 
said he could make no distinction betwixt them, and 
therefore commanded them to be executed together j 
at which the mother was so aggrieved that with a 
pair of woollen beads on her arms, for so the relation 
goeth, she on her knees cursed him, praying God's 
mischief might fall to hiin in the first battle he 
should make : the earl after this, coming with his 
brother to Edgecott field, as is before set down, after he 
had put his men in order to fight, found his brother 
Sir Richard Herbert in the head of his men, leaning 
upon his poll-axe in a kind of sad or pensive manner, 
whereupon the earl said, '' What, doth thy great 



'EDWARD LOED HERBERT. 29 

body," for he was higher hy the head than any one in 
the army, '^ apprehend anything that thou art so mel- 
ancholy, or art thou weary with marching, that thou 
dost lean thus upon thy poll-axe ? " Sir Richard Her- 
bert replied that he was neither of both, whereof he 
should see the proof presently ; '' only I cannot but 
apprehend on your part, least the curse of the woman 
Mdth the woollen beads fall upon you." This Sir 
Eichard Herbert lieth buried in Abergavenny, in a 
sumptuous monument for those times, which still re- 
mains, whereas his brother, the Earl of Pembroke, 
being buried in Tintern Abbey, his monument to- 
gether with the church lie now wholly defaced and 
ruined. This Earl of Pembroke had a younger son, 
which had a daughter which married the eldest son of 
the Earl of Worcester, who carried away the fair 
castle of Ragland, with many thousand pounds yearly 
from the heir male of that house, which was the 
second son of the said Earl of Pembroke, and ances- 
tor of the family of St. GiUians, whose daughter and 
heir I after married, as shall be told in its place. 
And here it is very remarkable that the younger sons 
of the said Earl of Pembroke, and Sir Richard Her- 
bert left their posterity after them, who in the person 
of myself and my wife united both houses again, which 
is the more memorable, that when the said Earl of 
Pembroke and Sir Richard Herbert were taken prison- 
ers in defending the just cause of Edward the Fourth, 
at the battle above said, the earl never entreated that 
his own life might be saved, but his brother's, as it 
appears by the said history. So that joining of both 
houses together in my posterity ought to produce a per- 
petual obligation of friendship and mutual love in them 
one to another, since by these two brothers so brave 



30 THE LIFE OF 

an example thereof was given, as seemiug not to live 
or die but for one another. 

My mother was Magdalen Newport, daughter of Sir 
Richard Newport and Margaret his wife, daughter and 
l^eir of Sir Thomas Bromley, one of the privy council 
and executor of King Henry tlie Eighth, who surviving 
her husband gave rare testimonies of an incomparable 
piety to God, and love to her children, as being most 
assiduous and devout in her daily, both private and 
public, prayers, and so careful to provide for her pos- 
terity that though it M^as in her power to give her es- 
tate (which was very great) to whom she would, yet 
she continued still unmarried, and so provident for them 
that after she had bestowed aU her daughters with 
sufficient portions upon very good neighboring fami- 
lies, she delivered up her estate and care of house- 
keeping to her eldest son Francis, when now she had 
for many years kept hospitality with that plenty and 
order as exceeded aU either of her country or time ; 
for, besides abundance of provision and good cheer for 
guests, which her son Sir Francis Newport continued, 
she used ever after dinner to distribute, vidth her own 
hands, to the poor, who resorted to her in great num- 
bers, alms in money, to every one of them, more or 
less, as she thought they needed it. By these ances- 
tors I am descended of Talbot, Devoreux, Gray, Corbet, 
and many other noble families, as may be seen in their 
matches, extant in the many fair coats the Newports 
bear. I could say much more of my ancestors of that 
side likewise, but that I should exceed my proposed 
scope. I shall therefore only say somewhat more of 
my mother, my brothers, and sisters ; and for my 
mother, after she lived most virtuously and lovingly 
with her husband for many years, she after his death 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 31 

erected a fair monument for him in Montgomery 
church; brought up her children carefully, and put 
them in good courses for making their fortunes, and, 
briefly, was that woman Dr. Donne hath described in 
his funeral sermon of her printed. The names of her 
children were, Edward, Richard, William, Charles, 
George, Henry, Thomas; her daughters were, Eliza- 
beth, Margaret, Frances; of all whom I will say a 
little before I begin a narration of my own life, so I 
may pursue my intended purpose the more entirely. 

My brother Richard, after he had been brought up 
in learning, went to the Low Countries, where he con- 
tinued many years with much reputation, both in the 
wars, and for fighting single duels, which were many, 
insomuch that between both, he carried as I have been 
told, the scars of four and twenty wounds upon him 
to his grave, and lies buried in Bergen-opzoom. My 
brother William, being brought up likewise in learning, 
went afterwards to the wars in Denmark, where, fight- 
ing a single combat, and having his sword broken, he 
not only defended himself with that pifece which re- 
mained, but, closing with his adversary, threw him 
down, and so held him until company came in; and 
then went to the wars in the Low Countries, but lived 
not long after ; my brother Charles was fellow of New 
College, in Oxford, where he died young, after he had 
given great hopes of himself every way. My brother* 
George was so excellent a scholar that he was made 

* He had studied foreign languages in hopes of rising to be secretary 
of state, but, being disappointed in his views at court, he took orders, 
became prebend of Lincoln, and rector of Bemerton near Salisl)ury. He 
died between 1630 and 1640. His poems were printed at London in 1635, 
under tlie title of " The Temple" ; and his "Piiest to the Temple," in 1653. 
Lord Bacon dedicated to him a translation of some psalms into Englisli 
verse. 



o 



2 THE LIFE OF 



the public orator of the University in Cambridge, some 
of whose English works are extant, which, though 
they be rare in their kind, yet are far short of express- 
ing those perfections he had in the Greek and Latin 
tongue, and all divine and human literature ; his wife 
was most holy and exemplary, insomuch that about 
Salisbury, where he lived beneficed for many years, he 
was little less than sainted : he was not exempt from 
passion and choler, being infirmities to which all our 
race is subject, but, that excepted, without reproach in 
his actions. Henry, after he had been brought up in 
learning as the other brothers were, was sent by his 
friends into France, where he attained the language of 
that country in much perfection, after which time he 
came to court, and was made gentleman of the king's 
privy-chamber, and master of the revels, by which 
means, as also by a good marriage, he attained to great 
fortunes, for himself and posterity to enjoy : he also 
hath given several proofs of his courage in duels, and 
otherwise, being no less dexterous in the ways of the 
court, as having gotten much by it. 

My brother Thomas was a posthumous, as being 
born some weeks after his father's death; he, also 
being brought up a while at school, was sent as a 
page to Sir Edward Cecil,* lord general of his majesty's 
auxiliary forces to the princes in Grennany, and was 
particularly at the siege of Juliers, Anno Dom. 1610, 
where he show^ed such forwardness as no man in that 
great army before him was more adventurous on all 
occasions. Being returned from thence, he went to 
the East Indies under the command of Captain Joseph, 
who, in his way tliither, meeting with a great Spanish 

* Afterwards Viscount Wimbledon. See an account of him in " The 
Uoyal and Noble Authors." 



EDWAED LORD HERBERT. 33 

ship, was imfortimately killed in fight with them; 
whereupon, his men being disheartened, my brother 
Thomas encouraged them to revenge the loss, and 
renewed the fight in that manner (as Sir John Smyth, 
governor of the East India Company, told me at several 
times) that they forced the Spanish ship to run 
aground, where the English shot her through and 
through so often that she ran herself aground, and 
was left wholly unserviceable. After which time he 
with the rest of the fleet came to Suratte, and from 
thence went with the merchants to the G-reat Mogul, 
where, after he had stayed about a twelvemonth, he 
returned with the same fleet back again to England. 
After this he went in the navy w^hich King James 
sent to Argier, under the command of Sir Robert Man-» 
sell, where our men being in great want of money 
and victuals^ and many ships scattering themselves 
to try whether they could obtain a prize w^hereby to 
relieve the whole fleet, it was his hap to meet with a 
ship, which he took, and in it to the value of eighteen 
hundred pounds, which it was thought saved the whole 
fleet from perishing : he conducted also Count Mans- 
feldt to the Low Countries in one of the king's ships, 
which being unfortunately cast away not far from the 
shore, the count together with his company saved 
themselves in a long boat or shallop, the benefit whereof 
my said brother refused to take for the present, as 
resolving to assist the master of the ship, who endeav- 
ored by all means to clear the ship from the danger ; 
but, finding it impossible, he was the last man that 
saved himself in the long boat ; the master thereof 
yet refusing to come away, so that he perished together 
with the ship. After this, he commanded one of the 
ships that were sent to bring the prince from Spain, 



34 THE LIFE OF 

where, upon his return, there heing a fight hetween 
the Low Countrymen and the Dunkirkers, the prince, 
who thought it was not for his dignity to suflfer them 
to fight in his presence, commanded some of his ships 
to part them, whereupon my said hrother with some 
other ships got betwixt them on either side, and shot 
so long that both parties were glad to desist. After 
he had brought the prince safely home, he was ap- 
pointed to go with one of the king's ships to the nar- 
row seas : he also fought divers times with great 
courage and success with divers men in single fight, 
sometimes hurting and disarming his adversary, and 
sometimes driving him away : after all these proofs 
given of himself, he expected some great command, 
but, finding himself as he thought undervalued, he 
retired to a private and melancholy life, being much 
discontented to find others preferred to him ; in which 
sullen humor having lived many years, he died and 
was buried in London, in St. Martin's near Charing 
Cross, so that of all my brothers none survives but 
Henry. 

I shall now come to myself. I was born at Eyton 
in Shropshire (being a house which together with fair 
lands descended upon the Newports by my said grand- 
mother), between the hours of twelve and one of the 
clock in the morning; my infancy was very sickly, 
my head continually purging itself very much by my 
ears, whereupon also it was so long before I began to 
speak that many thought I sliould be ever dumb : the 
very farthest thing I remember is that when I under- 
stood what was said by others I did yet forbear to 
speak, lest I should utter something that was imperfect 
or impertinent ; when I came to talk, one of the 
farthest inquiries I made M^^as how I came into this 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 35 

world. I told my nurse, keeper, and others, I found 
myself here indeed, but from what cause or beginning 
or by what means I could not imagine 5 but for this as 
I was laughed at by nurse and some other women that 
were then present, so I was wondered at by others, 
who said they never heard a child but myself ask that 
question ; upon which, when I came to riper years, I 
made this observation, which afterwards a little com- 
forted me, that as I found myself in possession of this 
life without knowing anything of the pangs and throes 
my mother suffered, when yet doubtless they did no 
less press and afflict me than her, so I hope my soul 
shall pass to a better life than this without being 
sensible of the anguish and pains my body shall feel 
in death. For, as I believe then I shall be trans- 
mitted to a more happy estate by God's great grace, I 
am confident I shall no more know how I came out of 
this world than how I came into it. 

And certainly since in my mother's womb this plastica 
or formatrix which formed my eyes, ears, and other 
senses, did not intend them for that dark and noisome 
place, but as being conscious of a better life, made 
them as fitting organs to ajoprehend and perceive those 
things which should occur in this world, so I believe 
since my coming into this world my soul hath formed 
or produced certain faculties which are almost as use- 
less for this life as the above-named senses were for 
the mother's womb ; and these faculties are hope, faith, 
love, and joy, since they never rest or fix upon any 
transitory or perishing object in this world, as extend- 
ing themselves to something farther than can be here 
given, and indeed acquiesce only in the perfect, eternal, 
and infinite : I confess they are of some use here, yet 
I appeal to everybody whether any worldly felicity did 



W THE LIFE OF 

so satisfy their hope here, that they did not wish and 
hope for something more excellent ; or whether they 
had ever that faith in their own wisdom, or in the help 
of man, that they were not constrained to have recourse 
to some diviner and superior power than they could find 
on earth, to relieve them in their danger or necessity ; 
whether ever they could place their love on any earthly 
beauty, that it did not fade and wither, if not frustrate 
or deceive them j or whether ever their joy was so con- 
summate in anything they delighted in, that they did 
not want much more than it, or indeed this world can 
afford, to make them happy. The proper objects of 
these faculties, therefore, though framed or at least, 
appearing in this world, is God only, upon whom faith, 
hope, and love were never placed in vain, or remain 
long unrequited: but to leave these discourses and 
come to my childhood again ; I remember this defluc- 
tion at my ears above-mentioned continued in that 
violence that my fi-icnds did not think fit to teach me 
so much as my alphabet until I was seven years old, 
at which time my defluction ceased, and left me free of 
the disease my ancestors were subject unto, being the 
epilepsy. My schoolmaster, in the house of my said 
lady grandmother, began then to teach me the alpha- 
bet, and afterwards grammar, and other books com- 
monly read in schools, in which I profited so much 
that upon this theme, *' Audaces fortuna juvat," I 
made an oraticm of a sheet of paper, and fifty or sixty 
verses in the space of one day. I remember in that 
time I was corrected sometimes for going to cuffs with 
two school-fellows, being both older than myself, but 
never for telling a lie or any other fault, my natural 
disposition and inclination being so contrary to all 
falsehood that, being demanded whether I had com- 



EDWARD LOED HErvBERT. 37 

mitted any fault whereof I might be justly suspected, 
I did use ever to confess it freely, and thereupon choos- 
ing rather to suffer correction than to stain my mind 
with telling a lie, which I did judge then no time could 
ever deface; and I can affirm to all the world truly, 
that from my first infancy to this hour I told not will- 
ingly anything that was false, my soul naturally hav- 
ing an antipathy to lying and deceit. After I had 
attained the age of nine, during all which time I lived 
in my said lady grandmother's house at Eyton, my 
parents thought fit to send me to some place where I 
might learn the Welsh tongue, as believing it neces^ 
sary to enable me to treat with those of my friends and 
tenants who understood no other language, whereupon 
I was recommended to Mr. Edward Thellwall, of Place- 
ward, in Denbighshire ; this gentleman I must remem- 
ber with honor, as having of himself acquired the exact 
knowledge of Greek, Latin, French, Italian, and Span- 
ish, and all other learning, having for that purpose 
neither gone beyond seas, nor so much as had the 
benefit of any universities. Besides, be was of that 
rare temper in governing his choler that I never saw 
him angry during the time of my stay there, and have 
heard so much of him for many years before. When 
occasion of offence was given him I have seen him 
seldom redden in the face, and after remain for a while 
silent, but when he spoke his words were so calm and 
gentle, that I found he had digested his choler, although 
yet I confess I could never attain that perfection, as 
being subject ever to choler and passion more than I 
ought, and generally to speak my mind freely, and in- 
deed rather to imitate those who, having fire within 
doors, choose rather to give it vent than suffer it tt» 
bum the house. I commend yet much more the manner 



o 



8 THE LIFE OF 



t)f Mr. Thellwall, and certainly he that can forhear 
speaking for some while will remit much of his pas- 
sion, but as I could not learn much of him in this kind, 
so I did as little profit in learning the Welsh or any 
other of those languages that worthy gentleman under- 
stood, as having a tertian ague for the most part of 
nine months, which was all the time I stayed in his 
house; having recovered my strength again, I was 
sent, being about the age of ten, to be taught by one 
Mr. Newi;on, at Diddlebury, in Shropshire, where, in 
the space of less than two years, I not only recovered 
all I had lost in my sickness, but attained to the 
knowledge of the Greek tongue and logic, insomuch 
that at twelve years old my parents thought fit to send 
me to Oxford to University College, where I remember 
to have disputed at my first coming in logic, and to 
have made in Greek the exercises required in that col- 
lege, oftener than in Latin. 

I had not been many months in the university, but 
news was brought me of my father's death, his sick- 
ness being a lethargy, caros, or coma vigilans, which 
continued long upon him; he seemed at last to die 
without much pain, although in his senses. Upon 
ophiion given by physicians that his disease was mor- 
tal, my mother thought fit to send for me home, and 
presently after my father's death to desire her brother. 
Sir Francis Newport, to haste to London to obtain my 
wardship for his and her use jointly, which he ob- 
tained. Shortly after I was sent again to my studies 
in Oxford, w^here I had not been long but that an 
overture for a match with the daughter and heir of Sir 
William Herbert, of St. Gillians, was made, the occa- 
sion whereof was this : Sir William Herbert being heir 
male to the old Earl of Pembroke above-mentioned, by 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 39 

a younger son of his (for the eldest son had a daughter 
who carried away those great possessions the Earl of 
Worcester now holds in Monmouthshire, as I said be- 
fore), having one only daughter surviving, made a will 
whereby he estated all his possessions in Monmouth- 
shire and Ireland upon his said daughter, upon con- 
ditions she married one of the surname of Herbert, 
otherwise the said lands to descend to the heirs male 
of the said Sir William ; and his daughter to have only 
a small portion out of the lands he had in Anglesey 
and Carnarvonshire. His lands being thus settled, Sir 
William died shortly afterwards. He was a man much 
conversant with books, and especially given to the 
study of divinity, insomuch that he writ an exposition 
upon the revelations which is printed, although some 
thought he was as far from finding the sense thereof as 
he was from attaining the philosopher's stone, which 
was another part of his study ; howsoever he was very 
understanding in all other things, he was noted yet to 
be of a very high mind, but I can say little of him, as 
having never seen his person, nor otherwise had much 
information concerning him. His daughter and heir, 
called Mary, after her father died, continued unmarried 
till she was one-and-twenty, none of the Herberts ap- 
pearing in all that time who either in age or fortune 
was fit to match her : ^vbout this time I had attained 
the age of fifteen, and a match at last being proposed, 
yet, notwithstanding the disparity of years betwixt us, 
upon the eight-and-twentieth of February, 1598, in 
the house of Eyton, where the same man. Vicar of 

, married my father and mother, christened 

and married me, I espoused her. Not long after my 
marriage, I went again to Oxford, together with my wife 
and mother, who took a house and lived for some cer- 



40 THE LIFE OF 

tain time there ; and I now followed my book more 
close than ever, in which course I continued till I 
attained about the age of eighteen, when my mother 
took a house in London, between which place and 
Montgomery Castle I passed my time till I came to the 
age of one-and-twenty, having in that space divers 
children, I having now none remaining but Beatrice, 
Kichard, and Edward. During tliis time of living in 
the university or at home, I did without any master 
or teacher attain the knowledge of the French, Italian, 
and Spanish languages, by the help of some books in 
Latin or English translated into those idioms, and the 
dictionaries of those several languages ; I attained also 
to sing my part at first sight in music, and to play on 
the lute with very little or almost no teaching. My in- 
tention in learning languages being to make myself a 
citizen of the world as far as it M^ere possible ; and my 
learning of nmsic was for this end, that I might enter- 
tain myself at home, and together refresh my mind 
after my studies, to which I was exceedingly inclined, 
and that I might not need the company of young men, 
in whom I observed in those times much ill example 
and debauchery. 

Being gotten thus far into my age, I shall give some 
observations concerning ordinary education, even from 
the first infancy till the departure from the university, 
as being desirous together with the narration of my 
life to deliver such rules as I conceive may be useful to 
my posterity. 

When children go to school they should have one to 
attend them who may take care of their manners as 
well as the schoolmaster doth of their learning, for 
among boys all A'ice is easily learned, and here I could 
wish it constantly observed, that neither the m^aster 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. .41 

should correct him for faults of his manners, nor his 
governor for manners for the faults in his learning. 
After the alphabet is taught, I like well the shortest 
and clearest grammars, and such books into which all 
the Greek and Latin words are severally contrived, in 
which kind one Comenus hath given an example ; this 
being done, it would be much better to proceed with Greek 
authors than wdth Latin, for as it is as easy to learn at 
first the one as the other, it would be much better to 
give the first impressions into the child's memory of 
those things which are more rare than usual : therefore 
I would have them begin at Greek first, and the rather 
that there is not that art in the world wherein the 
Greeks have not excelled and gone before others ; so 
.that when you look upon philosophy, astronomy, math- 
.ematics, medicine, and briefly all learning, the Greeks 
have exceeded all nations. When he shall be ready to 
go to the university,^t will be fit also his governor for 
Planners go along with him, it being the frail nature 
of youth as they grow to ripeness in age to be more 
capable of doing ill, unless their manners be well 
guided, and themselves by degrees habituated in virtue, 
with which if once they acquaint themselves they will 
find more pleasure in it than ever they can do in vice, 
since everybody loves virtuous persons, whereas the 
vicious do scarce love one another ; for this purpose 
it will be necessary that you keep the company of 
grave, learned men, who are of good reputation, and 
hear rather what they say, and follow what they do 
than follow the examples of young, wild, and rash 
persons ; and certainly of those two parts which are 
ito be acquired in youth, whereof one is goodness and 
virtuous manners, the other learning and knowledge, 
I shall so much prefer the first before the second, as I 



42 THE LIFE OF 

shall ever think virtue, accompanied with ordinary 
discretion, will make his way better both to happiness 
in this world and the next, than any puffed knowledge 
which would cause him to he insolent and vainglo- 
rious, or minister, as it were, arms and advantages to 
him for doing a mischief; so that it is pity that wicked 
dispositions should have knowledge to actuate their ill 
intentions, or courage to maintain them, that fortitude 
which should defend all a man's virtues being never 
well employed to defend his humors, passions, or vices. 
I do not approve for elder brothers that course of 
study which is ordinary used in the university, which 
is, if their parents perchance intend they shall stay 
three, four, or five years, to employ the said time as 
if they meant to proceed masters of art and doctors in 
some science, for which purpose their tutors commonly 
spend much time in teaching them the subtilities of 
logic, which, as it is usually pr«lbtised, enables them 
for little more than to be excellent wranglers, wliich 
art, though it may be tolerable in a mercenary lawyer, 
I can by no means commend in a sober and well-gov- 
erned gentleman. I approve much those parts of logic 
which teach men to deduce their proofs from firm and 
undoubted principles, and show men to distinguish 
betmxt truth and falsehood, and help them to discover 
fallacies, sophisms, and that which the schoolmen 
call vicious argumentations, concerning which I shall 
not here enter into a long discourse. So much of 
logic as may serve for this purpose being acquired, 
some good sum of philosophy may be learned, which 
may teach him both the ground of the Platonic and 
Aristotelian philosophy. After M^hich it will not be 
amiss to read the '■'' Idea Medicinae Philosophicse," 
written by Severinus Danus, there being many things 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 43 

considerable concerning the Paracelsian principles writ- 
ten in that book which are not to be found in former 
writers; it will not be amiss also to read over Fran- 
ciscus Patricias and Tilesius, who have examined 
and controverted the ordinary peripatetic doctrine, all 
which may be performed in one year, that term being 
enough for philosophy as I conceive, and six months 
for logic, for I am confident a man may have quickly 
more than he needs of these two arts. These being 
attained, it will be requisite to study geography with 
exactness, so much as may teach a man the situation 
of all countries in the whole world, together with which 
it will be fit to learn something concerning the govern- 
ments, manners, religions, either ancient or new, as 
also the interests of states and relations in amity, or 
strength in which they stand to their neighbors ; it 
wdll be necessary also at the same time to learn the use 
of the celestial globe, the studies of both globes being 
complicated and joined together. I do not conceive 
yet the knowledge of judicial astrology so necessary, 
but only for general predictions ; particular events being 
neither intended by nor collected out of the stars. It 
will be also fit to learn arithmetic and geometry in 
some good measure, but especially arithmetic, it being 
most useful for many purposes, and among the rest for 
keeping accounts, whereof here is much use : as for the 
knowledge of lines, superficies, and bodies, though it be 
a science of much certainty and demonsti'ation, it is 
not much useful for a gentleman unless it be to under- 
stand fortifications, the knowledge whereof is worthy of 
those who intend the wars, though yet he must remem- 
ber that whatsoever art doth in way of defence, art 
likewise in way of assailing can destroy. This study 
hath cost me much labor, but as yet I could never find 



44 THE LIFE OF 

liow any place could be so fortified but that there 
were means in certain opposite lines to prevent or 
subvert all that could be done in that kind. It will 
become a gentleman to have some knowledge in med- 
icine, especially the diagnostic part, whereby he may 
take timely notice of a disease, and by that means 
timely prevent it, as also the prognostic part, whereby 
he may judge of the symptoms either increasing or 
decreasing in the disease, as also concerning the crisis 
or indication thereof. 

This art will get a gentleman not only much knowl- 
edge but much credit, since seeing any sick body he 
will be able to tell in all human probability whether 
he shall recover, or if he shall die of the disease, to tell 
what signs shall go before and what the conclusion 
will be ; it will become him also to know not only the 
ingredients but doses of certain cathartic or purging, 
emetic or vomitive medicines, specific or choleric, 
melancholic or phlegmatic constitutions, phlebot- 
omy being only necessary for those who abound in 
blood : besides, I would have a gentleman knoM^ how 
to make these medicines himself, and afterwards pre- 
pare them with his own hands, it being the manner of 
apothecaries so frequently to put in the succedanea that 
no man is sure to find with them medicines made with 
the true drugs which ought to enter into the composi- 
tion when it is exotic or rare ; or when they are ex- 
tant in the shop, no man can be assured that the said 
drugs are not rotten, or that they have not lost their 
natural force and virtue. I have studied this art very 
much also, and have in case of extremity ministered 
physic with that success which is strange, whereof I 
shall give two or three examples : Eichard Griffiths of 
Sutton, my servant, being sick of a malignant pestilent 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 45 

fever, and tried in vain all our coiin+ry physicians conld 
do, I was entreated to see him, when as yet he had 
neither eaten, drank, slept, nor known anybody f(jr the 
space of six or seven days, whereupon demanding 
whether the physicians had given him over, and it 
being answered unto me that they had, I said it would 
not be amiss to give him the quantity of a hazel-nut 
of a certain rare receipt which I had, assuring that if 
anything in the world could recover him, that would ; 
of which I was so confident that I would come the 
next day at four of the clock in the afternoon unto him, 
and at that time I doubted not but they should find 
signs of amendment, provided they should put the 
doses I gave them, being about the bigness of a nut, 
down his throat, which being done with much difficulty, 
I came the morrow after at the hour appointed, when 
to the wonder of his family he knew me and asked for 
some broth, and not long after recovered. My cousin 
Athelston Owen,also of Rhue Sayson, having an hydro- 
cephale also in that extremity that his eyes began to 
start out of his head, and his tongue to come out of his 
mouth, and his whole head finally exceeding its natural 
proportion, insomuch that his physicians likewise left 
him, I prescribed to him the decoction of two diuretic 
roots, which after he had drank four or five days, his 
head by degrees returned to its ancient figure, and all 
other signs of health appeared, whereupon also he 
wrote a letter to me that he was so suddenly and per- 
fectly restored to his former health, that it seemed more 
like a miracle than a cure } for those are the very words 
in the letter he sent me. 

Having thus passed over all human literature, it will 
be fit to say something of moral virtues and theological 
learning. As for the first, since the Christians and the 



46 THE LIFE OF 

heathens are in a manner agreed concerning the deii- 
'nitions of virtues, it would not be inconvenient to he- 
gin with those definitions which Aristotle in liis 
'' Morals" hath given, as being c<mfirmed for the most 
part by the Platonics, Stoics, and other philosophers, 
and in general by the Christian Church, as well as all 
nations in the world whatsoever ; they being doctrines 
imprinted in the soul in its first original, and contain- 
ing the principal and first notices by which man may 
attain his happiness here or hereafter ; there being no 
man that is given to vice that doth not find much op- 
position both in his own conscience and in the relig- 
ion and law as taught elsewhere 5 and this I dare say, 
that a virtuous man may not only go securely through 
all the religions but all the laws in the world, and 
whatsoever obstructions he meet, obtain both an in- 
ward peace and outward welcome among all with 
whom he shall negotiate or converse; this virtue, 
therefore, I shall recommend to my posterity as the 
greatest perfection he can attain unto in this life, and the 
pledge of eternal happiness hereafter, there being none 
that can justly hope of a union with the supreme God 
that doth not come as near to him in this hfe in virtue 
and goodness as he can, so that if human frailty do 
interrupt this union by committing faults that make 
him incapable of his everlasting happiness, it will be 
fit by a serious repentance to expiate and emaculate 
those faults, and for the rest trust to the mercy of God his 
Creator, Redeemer, and Preserver, who being our Father, 
and knowing well in what a weak condition througli 
infirmities we are, will I doubt not commiserate those 
transgressions we commit when they are done without 
desire to offend his divine majesty, and together rectify 
our understanding through his grace, since we com- 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 47 

monly sin through no other cause, but that we mistook 
a true good for that which was only apparent, and so 
were deceived by making an undue election in the 
objects proposed to us, wherein though it will be fit 
for every man to confess that he hath offended an infi- 
nite majesty and power, yet as upon better considera- 
tion he finds he did not mean infinitely to offend, 
there will be just reason to believe that Grod will not 
infiict an infinite punishment upon him if he be truly 
penitent, so that his justice may be satisfied, if not 
with man's repentance yet at least with some temporal 
punishment here or hereafter, such as may be propor- 
tionable to the offence ; though I cannot deny but when 
man would infinitely offend God in a despiteful and 
contemptuous way, it will be but just that he suffer an 
infinite punishment : but as I hope none are so wicked 
as to sin purposely and with a high hand against the 
eternal majesty of God, so when they shall commit any 
sins out of frailty, I shall believe, either that unless 
they be finally impenitent, and (as they say, sold inge- 
ni<Hisly over to sin) God's mercy will accept of their 
endeavors to return into a right way, and so make their 
peace with him by all those good means that are pos- 
sible. Having thus recommended the learning of 
moral philosophy and practice of virtue, as the most 
necessary knowledge and useful exercise of man's life, 
I shall observe that even in the employing of our vir- 
tues discretion is required, for every virtue is not pro- 
miscuously to be used, but such only as is proper for 
the present occasion. Therefore, though a wary and 
discreet wisdom be most useful where no imminent 
danger appears, yet where an enemy draws his sword 
against you, you shall have most use of fortitude, pre- 
vention being too late, when the danger is so pressing. 



48 THE LIFE OF 

On the otlier side, there is no occasion to use your for- 
titude against wrongs done by women or children, or 
ignorant persons, that I may say nothing of those that 
are much your superiors, who are magistrates, etc., 
since you might by a discreet wisdom have decHned 
the injury, or when it were too late to do so, you may 
with more equal mind support that which is done, 
either by authority in the one or frailty in the other. 
And certainly to such kind of persons forgiveness will 
be proper; in which kind I am confident no man of 
my time hath exceeded me ; for though whensoever my 
honor hath been engaged, no man hath ever been more 
forward to hazard his life, yet where with my honor I 
could forgive, I never used revenge, as leaving it 
always to Grod, who, the less I punish mine enemies, 
will inflict* so much the more punishment on them ', 
and to this forgiveness of others three considerations 
have especially invited me : — 

1. That he that cannot forgive others breaks the 
bridge over which he must pass himself, for every man 
had need to be forgiven. 

2. That when a man wants or comes short of an 
entire and accomplished virtue, our defects may be sup- 
plied this way, since the forgiving of evil deed in others 

* This is a very uncliristian reason for pardoning our enemies, and can 
by no means be properly called forgiveness. Is it forgiveness to remit a 
punishment on the hope of its being doviblcd ? One of the most excep- 
tionable passages in Shakespi are is the horrid reflection of Hamlet, that 
lie will not kill the king at his prayers, lest he send him to heaven,— and 
so am I revenged? Such sentiments should always be marked and con- 
demned, especially in authors who certainly do not mean to preach up 
malice and revenge. His lordship's other reasons are better founded, 
though still selfish. He does not appear a humane philosopher, till he 
owns that he continued to forgive, though he found that it encouraged 
new injuries. The beauty of virtue consists in doing rightj though to 
one's own prejudice. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 49 

amounteth to no less than virtue in us ; that therefore 
it may not he unaptly called the paying our debts with 
another man's money. 

3. That it is the most necessary and proper work 
of every man, for though when I do not a just thing, or 
a charitable, or a wise, another man may do it for me, 
yet no man can forgive my enemy but myself, and 
these have been the chief motives for which I have 
been ever inclined to forgiveness ; whereof thougli. I 
have rarely found other effect than that my servants, 
tenants, and neighbors have thereupon more frequently 
offended me, yet at least I have had within me an in- 
ward peace and comfort thereby, since I can truly say, 
nothing ever gave my mind more ease than when I had 
forgiven my enemies, which freed me from many cares 
and perturbations, which otherwise would have mo- 
lested me. 

And this likewise brings in another rule concerning 
the use of virtues, which is, that you are not to use 
justice where mercy is most proper, as, on the other 
side, a foolish pity is not to be preferred before that 
which is just and necessary for good example. So 
likewise liberality is not to be used where parsimony 
or frugality is more requisite ; as, on the other side, it 
will be but a sordid thing in a gentleman to spare, 
where expending of money would acquire unto him 
advantage, credit, or honor ; and this rule in general 
ought to be practised, that the \irtue requisite to the 
occasion is ever to be produced, as the most opportune 
and necessary. That therefore wisdom is the soul of 
all virtues, giving them as unto her members, life and 
motion, and so necessary in every action, that whoso- 
ever by the benefit of true wisdom makes use of the 
right virtue, on all emergent occasions, I dare say would 



60 THE LIFE OF 

never be constrained to have recourse to vice, whereby 
it appears that every virtue is not to be employed indif- 
ferently, but that only which is proper for the business 
in question; among which yet temperance seems so 
universally requisite, that some part of it at least will 
be a necessary ingredient in all human actions, since 
there may be an excess even in religious worship, at 
those times when other duties are required at our hands. 
After all, moral virtues are learned and directed to the 
service and glory of God, as the principal end and use 
of them. 

It would be fit that some time be spent in learning 
rhetoric or oratory, to the intent that upon all occasions 
you may express yourself with eloquence and grace ; 
for as it is not enough for a man to have a diamond 
unless it is polished and cut out into its due angles, 
and a foil be set underneath, whereby it may the 
better transmit and vibrate its native lustre and rays, 
so it will not be sufficient for a man to have a great 
understanding in all matters, unless the said under- 
standing be not only polished and clear, but underset 
and holpen a little with those figures, tropes, and 
colors M^hich rhetoric affords, where there is use of 
persuasion. I can by no means yet commend an af- 
fected eloquence, there being nothing so pedantic, or 
indeed that would give more suspicion that the truth 
is uot intended, than to use overmuch the common 
forms prescribed in schools. It is well said by them, 
that there are two parts of eloquence necessary and 
recommendable ; one is, to speak hard things plainly, 
so that when a knotty or intricate business, having no 
method or coherence in its parts, shall be presented, it 
will be a singular part of oratory to take those parts 
asunder, set them together aptly, and so exhibit them 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 51 

to the understanding. And this part of rhetoric I much 
commend to everybody, there being no true use of 
speech but to make things clear, perspicuous, and man- 
ifest, which otherwise would be perplexed, doubtful, 
and obscure. 

The other part of oratory is to speak common 
things ingeniously or wittily, there being no little vigor 
and force added to words, when they are delivered in a 
neat and fine way, and somewhat out of the ordinary 
road, common and dull language relishing more of the 
clown than the gentleman. But herein also affecta- 
tion must be avoided, it being better for a man by a 
native and clear eloquence to express himself, than by 
those words which may smell either of the lamp or ink- 
horn ; so that in general one may observe that men 
w^ho fortify and uphold their speeches with strong and 
evident reasons, have ever operated more on the minds 
of the auditors than those who have made rhetorical 
excursions. 

It will be better for a man who is doubtful of his 
pay to take an ordinary silver piece with its due stamp 
upon it, than an extraordinary gilded piece which 
may perchance contain a baser metal under it ; and 
prefer a well-favored, wholesome woman, though with 
a tawny complexion, before a besmeared and painted 
face. 

It is a general note, that a man's wit is best shown 
in his answer, and his valor in his defence, that there- 
fore as men learn in fencing how to ward all blows and 
thrusts which are or can be made against them, so it 
will be fitting to debate and resolve beforehand what 
you are to say or do upon any aff'ront given you, lest 
otherwise you should be surprised. Aristotle hath 
w^ritten a book of rhetoric, a work in my opinion not 



52 THE LIFE OF 

inferior to his best pieces, whom therefore with Cicero 
'' de Oratore," as also Quintilian, you may read for 
your instruction how to speak, neither of which two 
yet I can think so exact in their orations but that a 
middle style will be of more efficacy ; Cicero in my 
(jpinion being too long and tedious, and Quintilian too 
short and concise. 

Having thus by moral philosophy enabled yourself 
to all that wisdom and goodness which is requisite to 
direct you in all your particular actions, it will be fit 
now to think how you are to behave yourself as a pub- 
lic person, or member of the commonwealth and king- 
dom wherein you hve, as also to look into those 
principles and grounds ujjon which government is 
framed, it being manifest in nature that the wise doth 
easily govern the foolish, and the strong master the 
w^eak ; so that he that could attain most wisdom and 
power would quickly rule his fellows : for proof 
whereof, one may observe that a king is sick during 
that time the physicians govern him, and in day of 
battle an expert general appoints the king a place in 
which he shall stand, which was anciently the office of 
the constables de France. In law, also, the judge is in 
a sort superior to his king as long as he judgeth 
betwixt him and his people. Iij divinity, also, he to 
whom the king commits the charge of his conscience 
is his superior in that particular. All which instances 
may sufficiently prove that in many cases the wiser 
governs or commands one less wise than himself, un- 
less a wilful obstinacy be interposed ; in which case 
recourse must be had to strength where obedience is 
necessary. 

The exercises I chiefly used, and most recommend 
to my posterity, were riding the great horse, and fen- 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 53 

cm;;^, in which arts I had excellent masters, English, 
French, and Italian ; as for dancing, I could never find 
leisure enough to learn it, as employing my mind al- 
ways in acquiring of some art or science more useful ; 
howbeit I shall wish these three exercises learned in 
this order : — 

That dancing may be learned first, as that which 
doth fashion the body, gives one a good presence in, 
and address to all companies, since it disposeth the 
limbs to a kind of souplesse (as the Frenchmen call it) 
and agility, insomuch as they seem to have the use 
of their legs, arms, and bodies more than any others, 
who, standing stiff and stark in their postures, seem as 
if they were taken in their joints, or had not the per- 
fect use of their members. I speak not this yet as if I 
would have a youth never stand still in company, but 
only that when he hath occasion to stir, his motions 
may be comely and graceful; that he may learn to 
know how to come in and go out of a room where com- 
pany is ; how to make courtesies handsomely, accord- 
ing to the several degrees of persons he shall encounter ; 
how to put off and hold his hat, all which, and many 
other things which become men, are taught by the more 
accurate dancing-masters in France. 

The next exercise a young man should learn, but not 
before he is eleven or twelve years of age, is fencing ; 
for the attaining of which the Frenchman's rule is ex- 
cellent, hon pied hon oeil, by which to teach men how 
far they may stretch out their feet M^hen they would 
make a thrust against their enemy, lest either should 
overstride themselves, or, not striding far enough, fail 
to bring the point of their weapon home : the second 
part of his direction adviseth the scholar to keep a 
fixed eye upon the point of hii enemy's sword; to the 



54 THE LIFE OF 

intent he may both put by or ward the blows and 
thrusts made against him, and together direct the point 
of his sword upon some part of his enemy that lieth 
naked and open to him. 

The good fencing-masters, in France especially, when 
they present a foil or fleuret to their scholars, tell him 
it hath two parts, one of which he calleth the fort or 
strong, and the other the foible or weak; 'with the 
fort or strong, which extends from the part of the hilt 
next the sword, about a third part of the whole length, 
thereof he teach eth his scholars to defend themselves, 
and put by and w^ard the thrusts and blows of his 
enemy, and with the other two -third parts to strike or 
thrust as he shall see occasion ; which rule also teacheth 
how to strike or thrust high or low as his enemy doth, 
and briefly to take his measure and time upon his ad- 
versary's motions, whereby he may both defend him- 
self or offend his adversary, of which I have had much 
experiment and use both in the fleuret or foil, as also 
when I fought in good earnest with many persons at 
one and the same time, as will appear in the sequel 
of my life. And, indeed, I think I shall not speak 
vaingloriously of myself if I say that no man under- 
stood the use of his weapon better than I did, or hath 
more dexterously prevailed himself thereof on all occa- 
sions ; since I found no man could be hurt but through 
some error in fencing. 

I spent much time also in learning to ride the great 
horse, that creature being made above hl\ others for the 
service of man, as giving his rider all the advantages 
of which he is capable, while sometimes he gives him 
strength, sometimes agility or motion for the ovcrcom- 
'hxg of his enemy, in so much that a good ri^lcr on a 
good horse is as much above himself and others as 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 55 

this world can make him ; the rule for graceful riding 
is, that, a man hold his eyes always betwixt the two 
ears, and his rod oA'^er the left ear of his horse, which 
he is to use for turning him every way, helping himself 
with his left foot, and rod upon the left part of his neck, 
to make his horse turn on the right hand, and with the 
right foot and help of his rod also (if needs be) to turn 
him on the left hand, but this is to be used rather when 
one would make a horse understand these motions than 
when he is a ready horse, the foot and stirrup alone 
applied to either shoulder being sufficient, with the 
help of the reins, to make him turn any way : that a 
rider thus may have the use of his sword, or when it 
is requisite only to make a horse go sidewards, it will 
be enough to keep the reins equal in his hand, and 
with the flat of his leg and foot together, and a touch 
upon the shoulder of the horse with the stirrup, to 
make him go sideward either way without either ad- 
vancing forward or returning backwards. 

The most useful aer, as the Frenchmen term it, is 
territerr j the courbettes, cabrioes, or un pas et un 
sault, being fitter for horses of parade and triumph than 
for soldiers, yet I cannot deny but a demivolte with 
coMrbettes, so that they be not too high, may be useful 
in a fight or melee, for, as Labroue hath it in his book 
of horsemanship. Monsieur de Montmorency, having a 
horse that was excellent in performing the demivolte, 
did with his sword strike down two adversaries from 
their horses in a tourney, where divers of the prime 
gallants of France did meet ; for taking his time when 
the horse was in the height of his courbette, and dis- 
charging a blow, then his sword fell with such weight 
and force upon the two cavaliers one after another, that 
he struck them from their horses to the ground. 



.66 THE LIFE OF 

The manner of fighting a duel on horsehack I w^as 
tanght thus ; we had each of us a reasonable stiff riding- 
rod in our hands about the length of a sword, and so 
rode one against the other, he as the more expert sat still 
to pass me, and then to, get behind me, and after to 
turn with his right hand upon my left side with his 
rod, that so he might hit me with the point thereof in 
the body, and he that can do this handsomely is sure 
to overcome his adversary, it being impossible to bring 
his sword about enough to defend himself or offend the 
assailant ; and to get this advantage, which they call, in 
French, gagner la crouppe, nothing is so useful as to 
make a horse go only sideward until his adversary bo 
past him, since he will by this means avoid his adver- 
sary's blow or thrust, and on a sudden get on the left 
hand of his adversary in the manner I formerly related : 
but of this art let Labroue and Pluvinel* be read, who 
are excellent masters in that art, of whom I must con- 
fess I learned much, although to speak ingenuously my 
breaking two or three colts, and teaching them after- 
wards those aers of which they were most capable, 
taught me both what I M^as to do, and made me see 
mine errors, more than all their precepts. 

To make a horse fit for the wars and embolden him 
against all terrors, these inventions are useful : to beat 
a drum out of the stable first, and then give him his 
provender, then beat a drum in the stable by degrees, 
and then give him his provender upon the drum : when 

* Antoine de Pluvinel, principal Ecuyer de Louis treize, Roi de France, 
He published a very line folio, in French and Dutch, entitled " Instruc- 
tion du Roi en I'exercice de monter a clieval,'' Paris, 1619. It consists of 
dialogues between the young king, the Due de Bellegarde, and himself ; 
and is adorned with a great number of beautiful cuts by Crispin Pass, ex- 
hibiting the wliole system of the manege, and with many portraits of the 
great and remarkable men of that court. 



EDWAKD LORD HERBERT. 57 

he is acquainted herewith sufficiently, you must shoot 
oif a pistol out of the stahle, before he hath his proven- 
der ', then you may shoot off a pistol in the stahle, and 
S3 by degrees bring it as near to him as you can, till he 
be acquainted with the pistol, likewise remembering 
still after every shot to give him more provender; you 
must also cause his groom to put on bright armor, and 
so to rub his heels and dress him : you must also pre- 
sent a sword before him in the said annor, and when 
you have done, give him still some more provender: 
lastly, his rider must bring his horse forth into the open 
field, where a bright armor must be fastened upon a 
stake and set forth in the likeness of an armed man as 
much as possible, which being done, the rider must put 
his horse on until he make him not only approach 
the- said image, but throw it down, which being done, 
you must be sure to give him some provender, that he 
may be encouraged to do the like against an adversary 
in battle. It will be good also that two men do hold 
up a cloak betwixt them in a field, and then the rider 
to put the horse to it until he leap over, which cloak 
also they may raise as they see occasion, when the horse 
is able to leap so high. You shall do well also to use 
your horse to swimming, w^hich you may do either by 
trailing him after you at the tail of a boat, in a good 
river, holding him by the head at the length of the 
bridle, or by putting a good swimmer in a linen waist- 
coat and breeches upon him. 

It will be fit for a gentleman also to learn to swim, 
unless he be given to cramps and convulsions; how- 
beit, I must confess in my om^i particular that I cannot 
swim, for as I was once in danger of drowning by 
learning to swim, my mother upon her blessing charged 
me never to learn swimming, telling me farther that 



58 THE LIFE OF 

she had heard of more drowned than saved hy it, which 
reason though it did not prevail with me, yet her com- 
mandment did. It will he good also for a gentleman 
to learn to leap, wrestle, and vault on horsehack, they 
being all of them qualities of great use. I do much 
approve likewise of shooting in the long how, as being 
both a healthful exercise, and useful for the wars, not- 
withstanding all that our fii'emen speak against it : for, 
bring a hundred archers against so many musketeers, 
I say, if the archer comes within his distance, he M^ill 
not only make two shoots but two hits for one. 

The exercises I do not approve of, are riding of run- 
ning horses, there being much cheating in that kind ; 
neither do I see why a brave man should delight in a 
creature whose chief use is to help him to run away. 
I do not much like of hunting horses, that exercise 
taking up more time than can be spared from a man 
studious to get knowledge : it is enough therefore to 
know the sport, if there he any in it, without making 
it an ordinary practice : and indeed of the two, hawking 
is the better, because less time is spent in it : and upon 
these terms also I can allow a little bowling, so that 
the company be choice and good. 

The exercises I wholly condemn are dicing and 
carding, especially if you play for any great sum 6f 
money, or spend any time in them, or use to come to 
meetings or dicing-houses, where cheaters meet and 
cozen young gentlemen of all their money. I could 
say much more concerning all these points of education, 
and particularly concerning the discreet civility which 
is to be observed in communication either with friends 
or strangers, but this work would grow too big, and 
that many precepts conducing thereunto may be had in 
Guazzo '^ de la Civile Conversation" and Galeteus ^'de 
Moribus." 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 59 

It would also deserve a particular lecture, or re- 
cherche, how one ought to behave himself with chil- 
dren, servants, tenants, and neighbors ; and I am confi- 
dent that precepts in this point will be found more useful 
to young gentlemen than all the subtilities of schools : 
I confess I have collected many things to this purpose, 
which I forbear to set down here, because (if God grant 
me life and health) I intend to make a little treatise 
concerning these points ; I shall return now to the 
narrative of mine own history. 

When I had attained the age betwixt eighteen or nine- 
teen years, my mother, together with myself and wife, re- 
moved up to London, where we took house and kept a 
greater family than became either my mother's widow's 
estate or such young beginners as we were, especially 
since six brothers and three sisters were to be provided 
for, my father having made either no will, or such an im- 
perfect one that it was not proved. My mother, though 
she had all my father's leases and goods, which were 
of great value, yet she desired me to undertake that 
burden of providing for my brothers and sisters, which, 
to gratify my mother as well as those so near me, I was 
voluntarily content to provide thus far as to give my 
six brothers thirty pounds apiece yearly during their 
lives, and my three sisters one thousand pounds apiece, 
which portions married them to those I have above 
mentioned ; my younger sister indeed might have been 
married to a far greater fortune, had not the over- 
thwartness of some neighbors interrupted it. 

About the year of our Lord 1600 I came to London, 
shortly after which the attempt of the Earl of Essex, re- 
lated in our history, followed, which I had rather were 
seen in the writers of that argum ent th an here . Not long 
after this, curiosity rather than ambition brought me 



60 THE LIFE OF 

to court ; and as it was the manner of those times for 
all men to kneel down before the great queen Elizabeth, 
who then reigned, I was likewise upon my knees in 
the presence-chamber when she passed by to the chapel 
at Whitehall. As soon as she saw me she stopped, 
and, swearing her usual oath, demanded, ''Who 
is this ? " Everybody there present looked upon me, 
but no man knew me, till Sir James Croft, a pensioner, 
finding the queen stayed, returned back and told who 
I was, and that I had married Sir William Herbert of 
St. Gillian's daughter : the queen hereupon looked at- 
tentively upon me, and, swearing again her ordinary 
oath, said, ''It is a pity he was married so young," and 
thereupon gave her hand to kiss twice, both times 
gently clapping me on the cheek. I remember little 
more of myself, but that from that time until King 
James's coming to the croAvn, I had a son which died 
shortly afterwards, and that I intended my studies 
seriously, the more I learnt out of my books adding 
still a desire to know more. 

King James being now acknowledged king, and 
coming towards London, I thought fit to meet his 
majesty at Burley near Stanford ; shortly after I was 
made Knight of the Bath, with the usual ceremonies 
belonging to that ancient order. I could tell how 
much my person was commended by the lords and 
ladies that came to see the solemnity then used, but 
I shall flatter myself too much if I believed it. 

I must not forget yet the ancient custom, being that 
some principal person was to put on the right spur of 
those the king had appointed to receive that dignity ; 
the Earl of Shrewsbury, seeing my esquire there with 
my spur in his hand, voluntarily came to me and said, 
'•'Cousin, I believe you will be a good knight, and 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 61 

therefore I will put on your spur " ; whereupon, after 
my most humble thanks for so great a favor, I held up 
my leg against the wall, and he put on my spur. 

There is another custom likewise, that the knights 
the first day wear the gown of some religious order, 
and the night following to be bathed; after which 
they take an oath never to sit in place where injus- 
tice should be done but they shall right it to the 
uttermost of their power, and particularly ladies and 
gentlewomen that shall be wronged in their honor, if 
they demand assistance ; and many other points, not 
unlike the romances of Knight Errant. 

The second day to wear robes of crimson taffeta (in 
which habit I am painted in my study), and so to ride 
from St. James's to Whitehall with our esquires before 
us, and the third day to M^ear a gown of purple satin, 
upon the left sleeve whereof is fastened certain strings 
weaved of white silk and gold tied in a knot, and 
tassels to it of the same ; which all the knights are 
obliged to wear until they have done something fa- 
mous in arms, or till some lady of honor take it off, 
and fasten it on her sleeve, saying, " I will answer he 
shall prove a good knight." I had not long worn this 
string, but a principal lady of the court, and certainly 
in most men's opinion the handsomest, took mine 
off, and said she would pledge her honor for mine. 

Shortly after this I intended to go with Charles Earl 
of Nottingham, the lord admiral, who went to Spain to 
take the king's oath for confirmation of the articles of 
peace betwixt the two crowns ; howbeit by the industry 
of some near me, who desired to stay me at home, I 
■wsis hindered, and instead of going that voyage, was 
made sheriff of Montgomeryshire, concerning which I 
will say no more, but that I bestowed the place of 



62 THE LIFE OF 

imder sheriff, as also other places in my gifts, freely, 
without either taking gift or reward; which custom 
also I have observed throughout the whole course of 
my life, insomuch that when I was ambassador in 
France and might have had great presents, which 
former ambassadors accepted, for doing lawful courte- 
sies to merchants and others, yet no gratuity, upon 
what terms soever, could ever be fastened upon me. 

This public duty did not hinder me yet to follow my 
beloved studies in a country life for the most part ; 
though sometimes also I resorted to court, without yet 
that I had any ambition there, and much less was 
tainted with those corrupt delights incident to the 
times. 

About the year 1608 my two daughters, called Bea- 
trice and Florence, who lived not yet long after, and one 
son Richard being bom, and come to so much maturity, 
that though in their mere childhood they gave no little 
hopes of themselves for the future time, I called them 
all before my wife, demanding how she hked them, to 
which she answering, '^ Well," I demanded then whether 
she was willing to do so much for them as I would ; 
whereupon she, replying, demanded what I meant by 
that. I told her that for my part. I was but young for a 
man, and she not old for a woman ; that our lives were . 
in the hands of God ; that if he pleased to call either of 
us away, that party which remained might marry again, 
and have cliildren by some other, to which our estates 
might be disposed ; for preventing whereof I thought 
fit to motion to her that if she would assure upon the 
son any quantity of lands from £300 a year to £1000 I 
would do the like : but my wife, not approving hereof, 
answering in these express words, that she would not 
draw the cradle upc>n her head ; whereupon I desiring 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. '63' 

her to advise better upon the business, and to take 
some few days' respite for that purpose, she seemed to 
depart from me not very we[\ contented. About a 
week or ten days afterwards, I demanded again what 
she thought concerning the motion I made, to which 
yet she said no more, but that she thought she had al- 
ready answered me sufficiently to the point. I told her 
then that I should make another motion to her, which 
was that in regard I was too young to go beyond sea 
before I mamed her, she now would give me leave fjr a 
while to see foreign countries ; howbeit, if she would 
assure her lands as I would mine, in the manner above- 
mentioned, I would never depart from her. She an- 
swered that I knew her mind before concerning that 
point, yet that she would be sorry I went beyond sea ; 
nevertheless, if I would needs go, she could not help it. 
This, whether a license taken or given, served my 
turn to prepare without delay for a journey beyond sea, 
that so I might satisfy that curiosity I long since had 
to see foreign countries; so, that I might leave my wife 
so little discontented as I could, I left her not only pos- 
terity to renew the family of the Herberts of St. Gril- 
liaii's, according to her father's desire to inherit his 
lands, but the rents of all the lands she brought with 
her, reserving mine own, partly to pay my brothers' 
and sisters' portions, and defraying my charges abroad. 
Upon which terms, though I was sorry to leave my 
wife, I thought it no such unjust ambition to attain the 
knowledge of foreign countries, especially since I had 
in great part already attained the languages, and that 
I intended not to spend any long time out of my 
country. 

And now coming to court, I obtained a license to go 
beyond sea, taking with me for my companion Mr. 



64 THE LIFE OF 

Aureliau To^^msend, a gentleman that spoke the lan- 
guages of French, Italian, and Spanish in great perfec- 
tion, and a man to wait in my chamber who spoke 
French, two lackeys, and three horses. Coming thus to 
Dover, and passing the seas thence to Calais, I journeyed 
without any memorable adventure, till I came to Fau- 
bourg St. Germain in Paris, where Sir George Carew, 
then ambassador for the king, lived. I was kindly re- 
ceived by him, and often invited to his table. Next to his 
house dwelt the Duke of Ventadour, who had married a 
daughter of Monsieur de Montmorency, Grand Con- 
stable de France; many visits being exchanged be- 
tween that duchess and the lady of our ambassador, it 
pleased the duchess to invite me to her father's house, 
at the castle of Merlou, being about twenty-four miles 
from Paris ; and here I found much welcome from that 
brave old general,* who, being informed of my name, 
said he knew well of what family I was, telling the 
first notice he had of the Herberts was at the siege of 
St. Quintence, where my grandfather, with a command 
of foot under William Earl of Pembroke, wds. Pass- 
ing two or three days here, it happened one evening 
that a daughter of the duchess, of about ten or eleven 
years of age, going one evening from the castle to walk 
in the meadows, myself mth divers French gentlemen 

* Henry de Montmorency, second son of the Great Constable Anne de 
Mortmorency who was killed at the battle of St. Denis, 1567, and 
brother of Duke Francis, another renowned warrior and statesman. 
Henry was no less distinguished m both capacities, and gained great 
glory at the battles of Dreux and St. Denis. He was made constable by 
Henry the Fourth, thougb he could neither read nor write, and died in 
the habit of St. Francis, 1614. lie was father of the gallant but unfortu- 
nate Duke Henry, the last of that illuytrious and ancient line, who took 
for iheir niotfo " Dieu ayde au premier Chretien ! " The Duchess of Ven- 
tadour, mentioned above, was Margaret, second daughter of the consta- 
ble, and wife of Anne de Levi, Duke of Ventadour. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 65 

attended lier and some gentlewomen that were with 
her ; this young lady wearing a knot of ribbon on 
her head, a French chevalier took it suddenly and fas- 
tened it to his hatband ; the young lady offended here- 
with demands her ribbon, but he refusing to restore it; 
the young lady, addressing herself to me, said, ^^ Mon- 
sieur, I pray get my ribbon from that gentleman "j 
hereupon going towards him, I courteously, with my hat 
in my hand, desired him to do me the honor that I may 
deliver the lady her ribbon or bouquet again 5 but he 
roughly answered me, '^ Do you think I will give it 
you when I have refused it to her ? " I replied, '^ Nay, 
then, sir, I will make you restore it by force " ; where- 
upon, also putting on my hat and reaching at his, he 
to save himself ran away, and after a long course in 
the meadow, finding that I had almost overtook him, 
he turned short, and, running to the young lady, was 
about to put the ribbon on her hand, when I, seizing 
upon his arm, said to the young lady, " It was I that 
gave it." " Pardon me," quoth she, "it is he that 
gives it me." I said then, " Madam, I will not con- 
tradict you, but if he dare say that I did not con- 
strain him to give it, I will fight with him." The 
French gentleman answered nothing thereunto for the 
present, and so conducted the young lady again to the 
castle. The next day I desired Mr. Aurelian Town- 
send to tell the French cavalier that either he must 
confess that I constrained him to restore the ribbon, or 
fight with me ; but the gentleman, seeing him unwill- 
ing to accept of this challenge, went out from the 
place, whereupon I following him, some of the gen- 
tlemen that belonged to the constable taking notice 
hereof acquainted him therewith, who, sending for the 
French cavalier, checked him well for Ms sauciness 



66 THE LIFE OF 

in taking the ribbon away from his grandchild, and after- 
wards bid him depart his house ; and this was all that 
I ever heard of the gentleman, with whom I proceeded 
in that manner because I thought myself obliged 
thereunto by the oath* taken when I was made Knight 
of the Bath, as I formerly related upon this occasion. 

I must remember also that three other times I engaged 
myself to challenge men to fight vtath me who I con- 
ceived had injured ladies and gentlewomen. One M'^as in 
defence of my cousin. Sir Francis Newport's daughter, 
who was married to John Barker, of Hanion, whose 
younger brother and heir sent him a challenge, M^hich 
to this day he never answered, and would have beaten 
him afterwards but that I was hindered by my uncle, 
Sir Francis Newport. 

I had another occasion to challenge one Captain 
Vaughan, who I conceived offered some injury to- my 
sister, the Lady Jones, of Abarm arias : I sent him a 
challenge, which he accepted, the place between us 
being appointed beyond Greenwich, with seconds on 
both sides ; hereupon I coming to the King's Head in 
Greenwich, with intention the next morning to be in the 
place, I found the house beset with at least a hundred 
persons, partly sent by the lords of the privy council, 
who gave order to apprehend me : I, hearing thereof, 
desired my servant to bring my horses as far as he could 
from my lodging, but yet within sight of me ; which 

* This oath is one remnant of a superstitious and romantic age, whiclj 
an age calling itself enlightened still retains. The solemn service at the 
investiture of knights, which has not the least connection vrith anything 
holy, is a piece of the same profane pageantry. The oath being no longer 
supposed to hind, it is strange mockery to invoke Heaven on so trifling an 
occasion. It would he more strange if every kniglit, like the too consci' 
entious Lord Herbert, thought himself hound to cut a man's throat every 
time a miss lost her topknot ! 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 67 

being done, and all this company coming to lay hold 
on me, I and my second, who was my cousin, James 
Price, of Hanaclily, sallied out of the doors, with our 
swords drawn, and in spite of that multitude made our 
way to our horses, where my servant, very honestly 
opposing himself against those who would have laid 
hands upon us while we'got upon horseback, was him- 
self laid hold on by them and evil treated ; which I 
perceiving, rode back again, and with my sword in my 
hand rescued him, and afterwards seeing him get on 
horseback, charged them to go anywhere rather than 
to follow me ; riding afterwards with my second to the 
place appointed, I found nobody there, which, as I heard 
afterwards, happened because the lords of the council, 
taking notice of this difference, apprehended him, and 
charged him in his majesty's name not to fight with me, 
since otherwise I believed he would not have failed. 

The third that I questioned in this kind was a Scotch 
gentleman, who taking a ribbon in the like manner 
from Mrs. Middlemore, a maid of honor, as was done 
from the young lady above-mentioned, in a back room 
behind Queen Anne's lodgings in Greenwich, she like- 
wise desired me to get her the said ribbon. I repaired, 
as formerly, to him in a courteous manner to demand it, 
but he refusing, as the French cavaher did, I caught 
him by the neck, and had almost thrown him down, 
when company came in and parted us. I offered Hke- 
wise to fight with this gentleman, and came to the place 
appointed by Hyde Park, but this also was interrupted 
by order of the lords of the council, and I never heard 
more of him. 

These passages, though different in time, I have 
related here together, both for the similitude of argu- 
ment, and that it may appear how strictly I held my- 



68 THE LIFE OF 

self to my oath of knighthood ; since for the rest I can 
truly say that though I have lived in the armies and 
courts of the greatest princes in Christendom, yet I 
never had a quarrel with a man for mine own sake, so 
that although in mine own nature I was ever choleric 
and hasty, yet I never without occasion given quarrelled 
with anybody, and as little did anybody attempt to 
give me offence, as having as clear a reputation for my 
courage as whosoever of my time. For my friends often 
I have hazarded myself, but never yet drew my sword 
for my own salij^ singly, as hating ever the doing of 
injury, contenting myself only to resent them when 
they were offered me. After this digression I shall 
return to my history. 

That brave constable in France testifying now more 
than formerly his regard of me, at his departure from 
Merlou to his fair house at Chantilly, five or six miles 
distant, said he left that castle to be commanded by 
me, as also his forests and chases which were Avell 
stored with wild boar and stag, and that I might hunt 
them when I pleased ; he told me also that if I would 
learn to ride the great horse, he had a stable there of 
some fifty, the best and choicest as was thought in 
France, and that his esquire called Monsieur de Disan- 
cour, not inferior to Pluvinel or Labroue, should teach 
me. I did with great thankfulness accept his offer, as 
being very much addicted to the exercise of riding great 
horses ; and as for hunting in his forests I told him I 
should use it sparingly, as being desirous to preserve his 
game ; he commanded also his esquire to keep a table 
for me, and his pages to attend me, the chief of whom 
was Monsieur de Mennon, who, proving to be one of 
the best horsemen in France, keeps now an academy 
in Paris ; and here I shall recount a little passage be- 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 69 

twixt him and his master, that the inclination of the 
French at that time may appear, there being scarce any 
man thought worth the looldng on, that had not killed 
some other in duel. 

Mennon desiring to marry a niece of Monsieur Dis- 
ancour, who it was thought should be his heir, was 
thus answered by him : '' Friend, it is not time yet to 
marry, I will tell you what you must do ; if you will 
be a brave man, you must first kill in single combat 
two or three men, then afterwards marry, or the world 
will neither have got nor lost by you " ; of which 
strange counsel Disancour was no otherwise the ajithor 
than as he had been an example at least of the fonner 
part, it being his fortune to have fought three or four 
brave duels in his time. 

And now as every morning I mounted the great horse, 
so in the afternoons I many times went a hunting, the 
manner of which was this : the Duke of Montmorency 
having given order to the tenants of the town of Merlou, 
and some villages adjoining, to attend me when I went 
a hunting, they upon my summons usually repaired to 
those woods where I intended to find my game, with 
drums and muskets, to the number of sixty or eighty, 
and sometimes one hundred or more j)ersons ; they en- 
tering the wood on that side with that noise, discharg- 
ing their pieces and bearing their said drums, we on the 
other side of the said wood having placed mastiffs and 
greyhounds to the number of twenty or thirty, which 
Monsieur de Montmorency kept near his castle, ex- 
pected those beasts they should force out of the wood ; if 
stags or wild boars came forth we commonly spared 
them, pursuing only the wolves, which were there in 
great number, of which are found two sorts : the mastiff 
wolf, thick and short, though he could not indeed run 



70 THE LIFE OF 

fast, yet would figlit with our dogs ; t"he greyhound 
wolf, long and swift, who many times escaped our best 
dogs, though when he were overtaken easily killed hy 
us, without making much resistance; of hoth these sorts 
I killed divers with my sword, while I stayed there. 

One time also it was my fortune to kill a wild hoar 
in this manner : the hoar being roused from his den fled 
before our dogs for a good space, but; finding them press 
him hard, turned his head against our dogs, and hurt 
three or four of them very dangerously. I came on 
horseback up to him, and with my sword thrust him 
twice or thrice without entering his skin, the blade be- 
ing not so stiff as it should be ; the boar hereupon 
turned upon me, and much endangered my horse, which 
I perceiving rode a little out of the way, and, leaving my 
horse with my lackey, returned with my sword against 
tlie boar, who by this time had hurt more dogs ; and 
here happened a pretty kind of fight, for M^hen I thrust 
at the boar sometimes with my sword, which in some 
places I made enter, the boar would run at me, whose 
tusks yet, by stepping a little out of the way, I avoided, 
but he then turning upon me, the dogs came in and 
drew him off, so that he fell upon them, which I per- 
ceiving ran at the boar with my sword again, which 
made him turn upon me, but then the dogs pulled him 
from me again, while so relieving one another by turns, 
we killed the boar. At this chase Monsieur Disancour 
and Mennon were present, as also Mr. Townsend, yet 
so as they did endeavor rather to withdraw me from 
than assist me in the danger. Of which boar some 
part being well seasoned and larded, I presented to my 
uncle, Sir Francis Newport, in Shropshire, and found 
most excellent meat. 

Thus having passed a whole summer, partly in these 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 71 

exercises, and partly in visits of the Duke of Montmo- 
rency at his fair house in Chantilly, which for its extraor- 
dinary fairness and situation I shall here describe. 

A little river descending from some higher grounds 
in a country which was almost all his own, and falling 
at last upon a rock in the middle of a valley, which to 
keep its way forwards, it must on one or other side 
thereof have declined. Some of the ancestors of the 
Montmorencys, to ease the river of this labor, made 
divers channels through this rock to give it a free pas- 
sage, dividing the rock by that means into little islands, 
upon which he built a great strong castle, joined to- 
gether with bridges, and sumptuously furnished with 
hangings of silk and gold, rare pictures and statues ; 
all which buildings, united as I formerly told, were 
encompassed about with water, which was paved with 
stone (those which were used in the building of the 
house were drawn from thence). One might see the 
huge carps, pike, and trout, which were kept in several 
divisions, gliding along the waters very easily; yet 
nothing in my opinion added so much to the glory of 
this castle as a forest adjoining close to it, and upon a 
level with the house ; for being of a very large extent, 
and set thick both with tall trees and underwoods, the 
whole forest, which was replenished with wild boar, 
stag, and roe- deer, was cut out into long walks every 
way; so that, although the dogs might follow their 
chase through the thickets, the huntsmen might ride 
along the said walks, and meet or overtake their game 
in some one of them, they being cut with that art that 
they led to all the parts in said forest ; and here also I 
have hunted the wild boar divers times, both then and 
afterwards, when his son the Duke of Montmorency 
succeeded him in the possession of that incomparable 
place. 



72 THE LIFE OF 

And there I cannot but remember the direction the 
old constable gave me to return to his castle out of this 
admirable labyrinth, telling me I should look upon 
what side the trees were roughest and hardest, which 
being found I might be confident that part stood north- 
ward, which being observed I might easily find the 
east, as being on the right hand, and so guide my way 
home. 

How much this house, together with the forest, hath 
been valued by great princes, may appear by two little . 
narratives I shall here insert : Charles the Fifth, the 
great emperor, passing, in the time of Francis the 
First, from Spain into the Low Countries by the way 
of France, was entertained for some time in this house 
by a Duke of Montmorency who was likewise Con- 
stable de France, after he had taken this palace into his 
consideration with the forests adjoining, said he would 
willingly give one of his provinces in the Low Coun- 
tries for such a place, there being as he thought no- 
where such a situation. 

Henry the Fourth also was desirous of this house, 
and offered to exchange any of his houses, with much 
more lands than his estate thereabouts was worth ; to 
wliich the Duke of Montmorency made this wary an- 
swer: " Sieur, la maison est a vous, mais que je sois 
le concierge"; which in English sounds thus, ''Sir, 
the house is yours, but give me leave to keep it for 
you.'' 

When I had been at Merlou about some eight 
months, and attained as was thought the knowledge 
of horsemanship, I came to the Duke of Montmorency 
at St. Ilee,* and after due thanks for his favors, took 

* Sc orig. But it is probably a blunder of the transcriber for CLan- 
tiUy. ^ 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 73 

my leave of him to go to Paris, whereupon the good 
old prince embracing me and calling me son, bid me 
farewell, assuring me nevertheless he should be glad of 
any occasion hereafter to testify his love and esteem 
for me, telling me, farther, he should come to Paris 
himself shortly, where he hoped to see me; from hence 
I returned to Merlou, where I gave Monsieur Disan- 
cour such a present as abundantly requited the charges 
of my diet, and the pains of his teaching. Being now 
ready to set forth, a gentleman from the Duke of Mont- 
morency came to me, and told me his master would 
not let me go without giving me a present, which I 
might keep as an earnest of his affection ; whereupon 
also a genet, for which the duke had sent expressly 
into Spain, and which cost him there five hundred 
crowns, as I M'^as told, was brought to me. The great- 
ness of this gift, together with other courtesies received, 
did not a little trouble me, as not knowing then how 
to requite them. I would have given my horses I had 
there, which were of great value, to him, but that I 
thought them too mean a present, but the duke also 
suspecting that I meant to do so prevented me ; say- 
ing, that as I loved him, I should think upon no requi- 
tal, while I stayed in France, but when I came into 
England, if I sent him a mare that ambled naturally, 
I should much gratify him. I told the messenger I 
should strive both that way and every way else to de- 
clare my thankfulness, and so dismissed the messenger 
with a good reward. 

Coming nowto Paris, through the recommendation of 
the lord ambassador, I was received to the house of 
that incomparable scholar Isaac Casaubon, by whose 
learned conversation I much benefited myself, besides, 
I did apply myself much to know the use of my arms, 



74 THE LIFE OF 

and to ride the great horse, playing on the lute, and 
singing according to the rules of the French masters. 

Sometimes also I went to the court of the French 
king, Henry the Fourth, who upon information of me 
in the garden at the Tuileries, received me with all 
courtesy, emhracing me in his arms, and holding me 
some while there. I went sometimes also to the court 
of Queen Margaret at the Hostel, called hy her name ; 
and here I saw many halls or masks, in all which it 
pleased that queen publicly to place me next to her 
chair, not without the wonder of some, and the envy 
of another who was wont to have that favor. I shall 
recount one accident which happened while I was 
there. 

All things heing ready for the ball, and every one 
being in their place, and I myself next to the queen, 
expecting when the dancers would come in, one 
knocked at the door somewhat louder than became, 
as I thought, a very civil person ; when he came in, I 
remember there was a sudden whisper among the la- 
dies, saying, '' C'est Monsieur Balagny," or '"T is Mon- 
sieur Balagny " ; whereupon also I saw the ladies and 
gentlewomen one after another invite him to sit near 
them, and which is more, when one lady had his com- 
pany awhile, another would say, ''You have en- 
joyed him long enough, I must have him now " ; at 
which bold civility of theirs, though I were astonished, 
yet it added unto my wonder, that his person could 
not be thought at most but ordinary handsome ; his 
hair, which was cut very short, half gray, his doublet 
but of sackcloth cut to his shirt, and his breeches only 
of plain gray cloth ; informing myself by some stand- 
ers-by who he was, I was told that he was one of the 
gallantest men in the world, as having killed eight or 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 75 

nine men in single fight, and that for this reason the 
ladies made so much of him, it being the manner of 
all French women to cherish gallant men, as thinking 
they could not make so much of any else with the 
safety of their honor. This cavalier, though his head 
was half gray, he had not yet attained the age of 
thirty years, whom I have thought fit to remember 
more particularly here because of some passages that 
happened afterwards betwixt him and me at the siege 
of Juliers, as I shall tell in its place. 

Having passed thus all the winter, until about the 
latter end of January, without any such memorable 
accident as I shall think fit to set down particularly, I 
took my leave of the French king, Queen Margaret, and 
the nobles and ladies in both courts ; at which time 
the Princess of Conti desired me to carry a scarf into 
England, and present it to Queen Anne on her part, 
which being accepted, myself and Sir Thomas Lucy 
(whose second I had been twice in France, against two 
cavahers of our nation, who yet were hindered to fight 
with us in the field, where we attended them), we came 
on our way as far as Dieppe, in Normandy, and there took 
ship about the beginning of February, when so furious 
a storm arose, that with very great danger we were at 
sea all night ; the master of our ship lost both the use 
of his compass and his reason ; for not knowing whith- 
er he was carried by the tempest, all the help he had 
was by the lightnings, which, together with thunder, 
very frequently that night terrified him, yet gave the 
advantage sometimes to discover whether we M^ere upon 
our coast, to which he thought by the course of his 
glasses we were near approached; and now towards 
day we found ourselves, by great providence of God, 
■wdfcliin view of Dover, to which the master of our ship 



76 THE LIFE OF 

did make. The men of Dover rising by times in the 
morning to see whether any ship were coming towards 
them, were in great numbers upon the shore, as be- 
lieving the tempest, which had thrown down barns and 
trees near the town, might give them the benefit of 
some wi'eck, if perchance any ship were driven thither- 
wards : we coming thus in extreme danger straight 
upon the pier of Dover, which stands out in the sea, 
our ship was unfortunately split against it ; the master 
said, ^'Mes amis, nous sommes perdus"; or, '* My 
friends, we are cast away " ; when myself, who heard 
the ship crack against the pier, and then found by the 
master's words it was time for every one to save them- 
selves, if they could, got out of my cabin (though very 
sea-sick), and, climbing up the mast a little way, drew 
my sword and flourished it ; they at Dover, having this 
sign given them, adventured in a shallop of six oars to 
relieve us, which being come wdth great danger to the 
side of our ship, I got into it first with my sword in my 
hand, and called for Sir Thomas Lucy, saying, that if 
any man ofiered to get in before him, I should resist 
him with my sword ; whereupon a faithful servant of 
his, taking Sir Thomas Lucy out of the cabin, who was 
half dead of sea-sickness, put him into my arms, whom 
after I had received, I bid the shallop make away for 
shore, and the rather that I saw another shallop com- 
ing to relieve us ; when a post from France, who car- 
ried letters, finding the ship still rent more and more, 
adventured to leap from the top of our ship into the 
shallop, where falling fortunately on some of the 
stronger timber of the boat, and not of the planks, 
■w^hich he must needs have broken, and so sunk us, had 
he fallen upon them, escaped together with us two unto 
the land. I must confess myself, as also the seamen 



EDWAED LORD HERBERT. 77 

tliat were in the shallop, thought once to have killed 
him for this desperate attempt, hut, finding no harm 
followed, we escaped together unto the land, from 
whence we sent more shallops^ and so made means to 
save both men and horses that were in the ship, which 
yet itself was wholly split and cast away, insomuch 
that in pity to the master^ Sir Thomas Lucy and my- 
self gave thirty pounds towards his loss, which yet was 
not so great as we thought, since the tide now ebbing 
he recovered the broken parts of his ship. 

Coming thus to London and afterwards to court, I 
kissed his majesty's hand, and acquainted him with 
some particulars concerning France. As for the present 
I had to deliver to her majesty from the Princess of 
Conti, I thought fit rather to send it by one of the 
ladies that attended her, than to presume to demand 
audience of her in person ; but her majesty, not satisfied 
herewith; commanded me to attend her, and demanded 
divers questions of me concerning that princess and the 
courts in France, saying she would speak more at large 
with me at some other time, for which purpose she 
commanded me to wait on her often, wishing me to 
advise her what present she might return back again. 

Howbeit not many weeks after I returned to my wife 
and family again, where I passed some time, partly in 
my studies, and partly riding the great horse, of which 
I had a stable well furnished ; no horse yet was so dear 
to me as the genet I brought from France,' whose love 
I had so gotten that he would suffer none else to ride 
him, nor indeed any man to come near him, when I 
was upon him, as being in his nature a most furious 
horse ; his true picture may be seen in the chapel 
chamber in my house, where I am painted riding him, 
and this motto by me, 



78 THE LIFE OF 

" Me totum Bonitas bonum suprema 
Reddas ; me intrepidiim dabo vel ipse." 

This horse, as soon as ever I came to the stable, would 
neigh, and M'^hen I drew nearer him would lick my 
hand, and (when I suffered him) my cheek, but yet 
would permit nobody to come near his heels at the 
same time. Sir Thomas Lucy -would have given me 
£200 for this horse, which, though I would not accept, 
yet I left the horse with him when I went to the Low 
Countries, who not long after died. The occasion of 
my going thither was thus^ hearing that a war about 
the title of Cleves, Juliers, and some other provinces 
betwixt the Low Countries and Germany should be 
made by the several pretenders to it, and that the 
French king himself would come with a great anny 
into those parts. It was now the year of our Lord 
1610, when my Lord Chandos* and myself resolved 
to take shipping for the Low Countries, and from 
thence to pass to the city of Juliers, which the Prince 
of Orange resolved to besiege : making all haste thither, 
we found the siege newly begun; the Low Country 
army assisted by four thousand English under the 
command of Sir Edward Cecil. We had not been 
long there when the Marshal de Chartres instead of 
Henry the Fourth, who was killed by that villain 
Ravaillac, came with a brave French army thither, in 
which Monsieur Balagny, I formerly mentioned, was 
a colonel. 

My Lord Chandos lodged himself in the quarters 
where Sir Horace Vere was ; I went and quartered 
with Sii* Edward Cecil, where I was lodged next to 

* Grey Bridges Lord Chandos, made a Knight of the Bath at the 
creation of Charles Duke of York, 1604; and called, for his hospitality 
and magnificence, the King of Cotswold. 



EDWARD LOED HERBERT. 79 

him in a hut I made there, going yet both by day and 
night to the trenches, we making our approaches to 
the town on one side and the French on the other. 
Our Unes were drawn towards tlie point of a bulwark 
of the citadel or castle, thought to be one of the best 
fortifications in Christendom, and encompassed about 
with a deep wet ditch ; we lost many men in making 
these approaches, the town and castle being very well 
provided both with great and small shot, and a garrison 
iu it of about four thousand men besides the burghers. 
Sir Edward Cecil (who was a very active general) used 
often during this siege to go in person in the night- 
time to try whether he could catch any sentinels per- 
dues; and for this purpose still desired me to accom- 
pany him, in performing whereof both of us did much 
hazard ourselves, for the first sentinel retiring to the 
second and the second to the third, three shots were 
commonly made at us before we could do anything ; 
though afterwards chasing them with our swords almost 
home unto their guards, we had some sport in the 
pursuit of them. 

One day Sir Edward Cecil and myself coming to 
the approaches that Monsieur de Balagny had made 
towards a bulwark or bastion of that city. Monsieur de 
Balagny, in the presence of Sir Edward Cecil and 
divers English and French captains then present, 
said, '' Monsieur, on dit, que vous etes un des plus 
braves de votre nation, et je suis Balagny, allons voir qui 
fera le mieux," — ^' They say you are one of the bravest 
of your nation, and I am Balagny, let us see who will 
do best " ; whereupon leaping suddenly out of the 
trenches with his sword drawn, I did in the like man- 
ner suddenly follow him, both of us in the mean while 
striving who should be foremost, which being perceived 



80 THE LIFE OF 

by those of the bulwark and cortine opposite to us, 
three or four hundred shot at least, great and small, 
were made against us. Our running on forwards in 
emulation of each other was the cause that all the shots 
fell betwixt us and the trench from which we sallied. 
When Monsieur Balagny, finding such a storm of 
bullets, said, '^Par Dieu il fait bien chaud," — ''It is 
very hot here." I answered briefly thus, '' Vous en irez 
premier, autrement je n'irai jamais," — '' You shall go 
first, or else I will never go " ; hereupon he ran with all 
speed, and somewhat crouching towards the trenches, 
I followed after leisurely and upright, and yet came 
within the trenches before they on the bulwark or 
cortine could charge again, which passage afterwards 
being related to the Prince of Orange, he said it was a 
' strange bravado of Balagny, and that we went to an 
unavoidable death. 

I could relate divers things of note concerning 
myself, during the siege, but do forbear, lest I should 
relish too much of vanity ; it shall suffice that my 
passing over the ditch unto the wall, first of all the 
nations there, is set down by William Crofts, master 
of arts, and soldier, who hath written and printed the 
history of the Low Countries. 

There happened during this siege a particular quarrel 
betwixt me and the Lord of Walden,* eldest son to the 
Earl of Suffolk, lord treasurer of England at that time, 
which I do but unwillingly relate, in regard of the 
great esteem I have of that noble family, howbeit to- 
avoid misreports I have thought fit to set it down truly. 
That lord having been invited to a feast in Sir Horace 

* Theopliilus Lord Howard of Walden, eldest son of Thomas Earl of 
Suffolk, whom he succeeded in the title, and was Knight of the Garter, 
Constable of Dover Castle, and captain of the band of pensioners.— Note 
to English Edition. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 81 

Vere's quarters, where (after the Low Country manner) 
there was liberal drinking, returned not long after to 
Sir Edward Cecil's quarters, at which time, I speaking 
merrily to him, upon some slight occasion, he took 
that offence at me, which he would not have done at 
another time, insomuch that he came towards me in a 
violent manner, which I perceiving did more than half- 
way meet him ; hut the company were so vigilant upon 
us that before any blow passed we were separated ', how- 
beit, because he made towards me, I thought fit the 
next day to send him a challenge, telling him that if he 
had anything to say to me, I would meet him in such 
a place as no man should interrupt us. Shortly after 
this, Sir Thomas Payton came to me on his part, and 
told me my lord would fight with me on horseback 
with single sword, '^ and," said he, " I will be his 
second ; where is yours V I replied that neither his 
lordship nor myself brought over any great horses with 
us ; that I knew he might much better borrow one 
than myself: howbeit, as soon as he showed me the 
place, he should find me there on horseback or on foot ; 
whereupon, both of us riding together upon two geldings 
to the side of a wood, Payton said he chose that place, 
and the time, break of day the next morning ; I told 
him I would fail neither place nor time, though I knew 
not where to get a better horse than the nag I rode on ; 
*^ and as for a second, I shall trust to your nobleness, 
who I know wdU see fair play betwixt us, though you 
come on his side " : but he urging me again to provide 
a second, I told him I could promise for nonte but my- 
self, and that if I spoke to any of my friends in the 
army to this purpose, I doubted lest the business 
might be discovered and prevented. 

He was no sooner gone from me, but night drew 



82 THE LIFE OF 

on, myself resolying in the mean time to rest under a 
fair oak all niglit ; after this, tying my horse hy the 
hridle unto another tree, I had not now rested two 
hours, when I found some fires nearer to me than I 
thought was possible in so solitary a place, whereupon, 
also having the curiosity to see the reason hereof, I got 
on horseback again, and had not rode very far when, 
hy the talk of the soldiers there, I found I was in the 
Scotch quarter, where, finding in a stable a very fair 
horse of service, I desired to know whether he might 
be bought for any reasonable sum of money ; but a 
soldier replying, it was their captain's. Sir James Are- 
skin's chief horse, I demanded for Sir James, but the 
soldier answering he was not within the quarteir, I 
demanded then for his lieutenant, whereupon the sol- 
dier courteously desired him to come to me. This lieu- 
tenant was called Montgomery, and had the reputation 
of a gallant man. I told him that I would very fain 
buy a horse, and if it were possible the horse I saw 
but a little before ; but he telling me none was to be 
sold there, I oflFered to leave in his hands one hundred 
pieces, if he would lend me a good horse for a day or 
two, he to restore me the money again when I deliv- 
ered him the horse in good plight, and did besides 
bring him some present as a gratuity. 

The lieutenant, though he did not know me, suspected 
I had some private quan-el, and that I desired this 
horse to fight on, and thereupon told me, '' Sir, whoso- 
ever you are, you seem to be a person of worth, and 
you shall have the best horse in the stable ; and if you 
have a quarrel and want a second, I offer myself to 
ser\^e you upon another horse, and if you will let me go 
along with you upon these terms, I will ask no pawni 
of you for the horse." I told him I would use no sec- 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 83 

ond, and I desired him to accept one hundred pieces, 
which I had there about me, in pawn for the horse^ and 
he should hear from me shortly again ; and that though 
I did not take his noble offer of coming along with me, I 
should evermore rest much obliged to him ; whereupon 
giving him my purse with the money in it, I got upon 
his horse and left my nag besides with him. 

Kiding thus away about twelve o'clock at night to 
the wood from whence I came, I ahghted from my 
horse, and rested there until morning ; the day now 
breaking I got on horseback, and attended the Lord of 
Walden with his second. The first person that ap- 
peared was a footman, who, I heard afterwards, was 
sent by the Lady of Walden, who, as soon as he saw 
me, ran back again with all speed ; I meant once to 
pursue him, but that I thought it better at last to keep 
my place. About two hours after, Sir William St. 
Leiger, now Lord President of Munster, came to me, 
and told me he knew the cause of my being there, and 
that the business was discovered by the Lord Walden's 
rising so early that morning, and the suspicion that he 
meant to fight with me, and had Sir Thomas Payton 
with him, and that he would ride to him, and that 
there were thirty or forty sent after us, to hinder 
us from meeting; shortly after many more came 
to the place where I was, and told me I must not 
fight, and that they were sent for the same purpose, 
and that it was to no purpose to stay there, and thence 
rode to seek the Lord of Walden. I stayed yet two 
hours longer, but, finding still more company came in, 
rode back again to the Scotch quarters, and delivered 
the horse back again, and received my money and nag 
from Lieutenant Montgomery, and so withdrew myself 
to the French quarters, until I did find some convenient 
time to send again to the Lord Walden. 



84 THE LIFE OF 

Being among the French, I rememhered myself of 
the bravado of Monsieur Balagny, and, coming to him, 
told him I knew how brave a man he was, and that 
as he had put me to one trial of daring, when 
I was last with him in his trenches, I would put 
him to another ; saying, 1 heard he had a fair mistress, 
and that the scarf he wore was her gift, and that I 
would maintain I had a worthier mistress than he, and 
that I would do as much for her sake as he or any else 
durst do for his. Balagny hereupon looking merrily upon 
me, said, that for his part, he had no mind to fight on that 
quarrel. I, looking hereupon som.ewhat disdainfully on 
him, said he spoke more like a paillard than a cavalier, 
to which he answering nothing I rode my ways, and 
afterwards went to Monsieur Terant, a French gentle- 
man that belonged to the Duke of Montmorency, for- 
merly mentioned ; who telling me he had a quarrel with 
another gentleman, I offered to be his second, but he 
saying he was provided already, I rode thence to the 
English quarters, attending some fit occasion to send 
again to the Lord Walden. I came no sooner thither 
than I found Sir Thomas Somerset,* with eleven or 
twelve more at the head of the English, who were then 
drawing forth in a body or squadron, who seeing me 
on horseback^ with a footman only that attended me, 
gave me some affronting words for my quarrelling witli 
the Lord of Walden ; whereupon I alighted, and giv- 
ing my horse to my lackey, drew my sword, which he no 
sooner saw but he drew his, as also all the company 
with him. I running hereupon amongst them, put by 
some of their thrusts, and making towards him in par- 

* He was third son of Edward Earl of Worcester, Lord Privy Seal to 
Queen Elizabeth and King James. Sir Thomas was Master of tlie Horse 
to Queen Anne, was made a Knight of the Bath in 1604, and Viscount 
Somerset of Cassel in Ireland. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 85 

ticular put by a thrust of his. and had certainly run 
him through, but that one Lieutenant Prichard, at that 
instant taking me by the shoulder, turned me aside ; 
but I recovering myself again ran at him a second time, 
which he perceiving retired himself with the company 
to the tents which were near, though not so fast but I 
hurt one Proger, and some others also that were with 
him 5 but they being all at last got within the tents, I, 
finding now nothing else to be done, got to my house 
again, having received only a slight hurt on the out- 
side of my ribs, and two thrusts, the one through the 
skirts of my doublet, and the other through my 
breeches, and about eighteen nicks upon my sword and 
hilt, and so rode to the trenches before Juliers, where 
our soldiers were. 

Not long after this, the town being now surrendered, 
andeverybody preparing to go their ways, I sent again 
a gentleman to the Lord of Walden to offer him the 
meeting with my sword, but this was avoided not very 
handsomely by him (contrary to what Sir Henry Rich, 
now Earl of Holland, persuaded him). 

After having taken leave of his excellency Sir Edward 
Cecil, I thought fit to return on my M^ay homewards as 
far as Dusseldorff. I had been scarce two hours in my 
lodgings, when one Lieutenant Hamilton brought a let- 
ter from Sir James Areskin (who was then in town 
likewise) unto me, the effect whereof was, that in regard 
his Lieutenant Montgomery had told him that I had the 
said James Areskin' s consent for borrowing his horse, 
he did desire me to do one of two things, which was 
either to disavow the said words, which he thought in 
his conscience I never spoke, or if I would justify 
them, then to appoint time and place to fight with him; 
having considered awhile what I was to do in this 



86 THE LIFE OF 

case, I told Lieutenant Hamilton that I thought myself 
bound in honor to accept the more noble part of his 
proposition, which was to fight with him, when yet 
perchance it might he easy enough for me to say that I 
had his horse upon other terms than was affirmed; 
whereupon also giving Lieutenant Hamilton the length 
of my sword, T told him that as sobn as ever he matched 
it, I would fight with him, wishing him farther to 
make haste, since I desired to end the business as 
speedily as could be. Lieutenant Hamilton, hereupon 
returning back, met in a cross street (I know not by 
what miraculous adventure) Lieutenant Montgomery, 
conveying divers of the hurt and maimed soldiers at the 
siege of St. Juliers unto that town, to be lodged and 
dressed by the chirurgeons there. Hamilton, hereupon 
calling to Montgomery, told him the effects of his cap- 
tain's letter, together with my answer, which Mont- 
gomery no sooner heard, but he replied (as Hamilton 
told me afterwards), ^^ I see that noble gentleman choos- 
eth rather to fight than to contradict me j but my 
teUing a he must not be an occasion why either my 
captain or he should hazard their lives : I will alight 
from my horse, and tell my captain presently how all 
that matter past " ; whereupon also, he relating the busi- 
ness about borrowing the horse, in that manner, I 
formerly set down, which, as soon as Sir James Areskin 
heard, he sent Lieutenant Hamilton to me presently 
again, to tell me he was satisfied how the business 
passed, and that he had nothing to say to me, but that he 
was my most humble servant, and was sorry he ever 
questioned me in that manner. 

Some occasions detaining me in DusseldorfiF, the 
next day Lieutenant Montgomery came to me, and told 
me he was in danger of losing his place, and desired 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 87 

me to make means to his excellency, the Prince of Or- 
ange, that he might not be cashiered, or else that he 
was undone. I told him that either I would keep him 
in his place, or take him as my companion and Mend, 
and allow him sufficient means till I could provide him 
another as good as it ; which he taking very kindly, 
but desiring chiefly he might go with my letter to the 
Prince of Orange, I obtained at last he should be re- 
stored to his place again. 

And now taking boat, I passed along the river of Rhine 
to the Low Countries, where, after some stay, I went to 
Antwerp and Brussels, and having passed some time ia 
the court there, went from thence to Calais, where 
taking ship I arrived at Dover, and so went to Lon- 
don. I had scarce been two days there, when the lords 
of the council, sending for me, ended the difference be- 
twixt the Lord of Walden and myself. And now, if I 
may say it without vanity, I was in great esteem both 
in court and city, many of the greatest desiring my 
company, though yet before that time I had no ac- 
quaintance with them. Richard, Earl of Dorset,* to 
whom otherwise I was a stranger, one day invited me 
to Dorset House, where, bringing me into his gallery 
and showing me many pictures, he at last brought me 
to a frame covered with green taffeta, and asked me 
who I thought was there } and therewithal, presently 
drawing the curtain, showed me my own picture, 
whereupon, demanding how his lordship came to have 
it, he answered that he had heard so many brave 
things of me that he got a copy of a picture which one 
Larkin, a painter, drew for me, the original whereof I 

* Richard Sackville, Earl of Dorset, grandson of the treasurer, and 
husband of the famous Anne Clifford, Countess of Dorset and Pem- 
broke. 



88 THE LIFE OF 

intended before my departure to the Low Countries for 
Sir Thomas Lucy j hut not only the Earl of Dorset, 
but a greater person* than I will here nominate, got 
another copy from Larkin, and placing it afterwards in 
her cabinet (without that ever I knew any such thing 
was done) gave occasion to those that saw it after her 
death, of more discourse than I could have wished ; 
and indeed I may truly say, that taking of my picture 
was fatal to me, for more reasons than I shall think fit 
to deliver. 

There was a lady also, wife to Sir John Ayres, 
Knight, who finding some means to get a copy of my 
picture from Larkin, gave it to Mr. Isaac, f the painter 
in Blackfriars, and desired him to draw it in httle after 
his manner, which being done, she caused it to be set 
in gold and enamelled, and so wore it about her neck, 
which I conceive coming afterwards to the knowledge 
of Sir John Ayres, gave him more cause of jealousy 
than needed, had he known hoM^ innocent I was from 
pretending to anything which might wrong him or his 
lady, since I could not so much as imagine that either 
she had my picture, or that she bore more than ordi- 
nary affection to me; it is true^that as she had a 
place in court, and attended Queen Anne, and was be- 
sides of an excellent wit and discourse, she had made 
herself a considerable person. 

I had not been long in London, when a violent burn- 
ing fever seized upon me, which brought me almost to 
my death, though at last I did by slow degrees recover 
my health ; being thus upon my amendment, the Lord 

* This was certainly Queen Anne, as appears in the very respectful 
terms in which he speaks of her a little farther, and from otlier passages, 
when he mentions the secret and dangerous enemies he had on this 
account. 

t Isaac Oliver. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 89 

Lisle,* afterwards Earl of Leicester, sent me word 
that Sir John Ayres intended to kill me in my bed, 
and wished me to keep a guard upon my chamber and 
person; the same advertisement was confirmed by 
Lucy, Countess of Bedford, f and the Lady Hobby, f 
shortly after. Hereupon I thought fit to entreat Sir 
William Herbert, now Lord Powis, to go to Sir John 
Ayres, and tell him that I marvelled much at the infor- 
mation given me by these great persons, and that I 
could not imagine any sufficient ground hereof; how- 
beit, if he had anything to say to me in a fair and 
noble way, I would give him the meeting as soon as I 
had got strength enough to stand upon my legs; Sir 
William hereupon brought me so ambiguous and 
doubtful an answer from him, that, whatsoever he 
meant, he would not declare yet his intention, which 
was really, as I found afterwards, to kill me any way 
that he could. Finding no means thus to surprise me, 
sent me a letter to this efiect ; that he desired to meet 
me somewhere, and that it might so fall out as I might 
return quietly again. To this I replied, that if he de- 
sired to fight with me upon equal terms, I should, 
upon assurance of the field and fair play, give him 
meeting when he did anyway specify the cause, and 
that I did not think fit to come to him upon any other 
terms, having been sufficiently informed of his plots 
to assassinate me. 

After this, finding he could take no advantage against 
me, then in a treacherous way he resolved to assassinate 

* Robert Sidney, Earl of Leicester, younger brother of Sir Philip Sid- 
ney. 

f Lucy Harrington, wife of Edward Earl of Bedford, a great patroness 
of the wits and poets of tliat age, 

t Pi-obably Anne, second wife of Sir Edward Hobby, a patron of Cam- 
den. 



90 THE LIFE OF 

me in tins manner: hearing I was to come to White- 
hall on horsehack with two lackeys only, he attended 
my coming back in a place called Scotland Yard, at the 
hither end of Whitehall, as you come to it from the 
Strand, hiding himself here with four men armed on 
purpose to kill me. I took horse at Whitehall Gate, 
and passing by that place, he being armed with a sword 
and dagger, without giving me so much as the least 
warning, ran at me furiously, but instead of me wounded 
my horse in the brisket, as far as his sword could enter 
for the bone ; my horse hereupon starting aside, he ran 
him again in the shoulder, which, though it made the 
horse more timorous, yet gave me time to draw my 
sword ; his men thereupon encompassed me, and 
wounded my horse in three places more ; this made 
my horse kick and fling in that manner as his men durst 
not come near me, which advantage I took to strike 
at Sir John Ayres with aU my force, but he warded 
the blow both with his sword and dagger : instead 
of doing him harm, I broke my sword within a foot 
of the hilt ; hereupon, some passenger that knew me, 
and observing my horse bleeding in so many places^ 
and so many men assaulting me, and my sword broken, 
cried to me several times, ''Eide away, ride away"; 
but I scorning a base flight, upon what terms so- 
ever, instead thereof alighted as well as I could from 
my horse. I had no sooner put one foot upon the 
ground, but Sir John Ayres, pursuing me, made at 
my horse again, which the horse perceiving, pressed 
on me on the side I alighted, in that manner that 
he threw me down, so that I remained flat upon the 
ground, only one foot hanging in the stiiTup, with 
that piece of a sword in my right hand. Sir John 
Ayres hereupon ran about the horse, and was thrusting 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 91 

his sword into me, when I finding myself in this danger, 
did with both my arms reaching at his legs pull them 
towards me, till he fell down backwards on his head. 
One of my footmen hereupon, who was a little Shrop- 
shire boy, freed my foot out of the stirrup, the other, 
which was a great fellow, having run away as soon as 
he saw the first assault ; this gave me time to get upon 
my legs, and to put myself in the best posture I could 
with that poor remnant of a weapon. Sir John Ayres 
by this time Hkewise was got up, standing betwixt me 
and some part of Whitehall, with two men on each 
side of him, and his brother behind him, with at least 
twenty or thirty persons of his friends or attendants of 
the Earl of Suffolk ; observing thus a body of men 
standing in opposition against me, though to speak 
truly I saw no swords drawn but by Sir John Ayres 
and his men, I ran violently against Sir John Ayres, 
but he, knowing my sword had no point, held his sword 
and dagger over his head, as believing I could strike 
rather than thrust, which I no sooner perceived but I 
put a home thrust to the middle of his breast, that I 
threw him down with so much force, that his head fell 
first to the ground, and his heels upwards ; his men 
hereupon assaulted me, when one Mr. Mansel, a Gla- 
morganshire gentleman, finding so many set against 
me alone, closed with one of them ; a Scotch gentleman, 
also closing with another, took him off also ; all I 
could well do to those two which remained was to 
ward their thrusts, which I did with that resolution 
that I got ground upon them. Sir John Ayres was 
now got up a third time, when I making towards him 
with intention to close, thinking that there was other- 
wise no safety for me, put by a thrust of his with my 
left hand, and so coming within him, received a stab 



92 THE LIFE OF 

with his dagger on my right side, which ran down my 
ribs as far as my liip, which I, feehng, did with my 
right elbow force his hand, together with the hilt of 
the dagger so near the upper part of my right side, that 
I umde him leave hold. The dagger now sticking in 
me, Sir Henry Gary, afterwards Lord of Falkland 
and Lord Deputy of Ireland, finding the dagger thus 
in my body, snatched it out ; this while I being closed 
with Sir John Ayres, hurt him on the head, and threw 
him down a third time, when kneeling on the ground, 
and bestriding him, I struck at him as hard as I could 
with my piece of a sword, and wounded him in four 
several places, and did almost cut off his left hand ; his 
two men this while struck at me, but it pleased Grod 
even miraculously to defend me, for when I hfted up 
my sword to strike at Sir John Ayres, I bore off their 
blows half a dozen times ', his friends, now finding him 
in this danger, took him by the head and shoulders, 
and drew him from betwixt my legs, and carrying him 
along with them through Whitehall, at the stairs 
whereof he took boat. Sir Herbert Croft (as he told 
me afterwards) met him upon the water vomiting all 
the way, which I beheve M'as caused by the violence 
of the first thrust I gave him ; his servants, brother, 
and friends being now retired also, I remained master 
of the place and his weapons, having first wrested his 
dagger from him, and afterwards struck his sword out 
of his hand. 

This being done, I retired to a friend's house in the 
Strand, where I sent for a surgeon, who, searching my 
wound on the right side, and finding it not to be mortal, 
cured me in the space of some ten days, during which 
time I received many noble visits and messages from 
some of the best in the kingdom. Being now fully 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 93 

recovered of my hurts, I desired Sir Robert Harley* 
to go to Sir John Ay res, and tell him, that though I 
thought he had not so much honor left in him that I 
could he any way ambitious to get it, yet that I desired 
to see him in the field with his svt'^ord in his hand ; the 
answer that he sent me was, that he would kill me 
with a musket out of a window. 

The lords of the privy council, who had first sent 
for my sword, that they might see the little fragment of 
a weapon with which I had so behaved myself, as per- 
chance the like had not been heard in any credible way, 
did afterwards command both him and me to appear 
before them ; but I, absenting myself on purpose, sent 
one Humphrey Hill with a challenge to him in an 
ordinary, which he refusing to receive, Humphrey Hill 
put it upon the point of his sword, and so let it fall 
before him and the company then present. 

The lords of the privy council had now taken order 
to apprehend Sir John Ayres, when I, finding nothing 
else to be done, submitted myself likewise to them. 
Sir John Ayres had now published everywhere that the 
ground of his jealousy, and consequently of his assault- 
ing me, was drawn from the confession of his wife, the 
Lady Ayres. She, to vindicate her honor, as well as 
free me from this accusation, sent a letter to her aunt, 
the Lady Crook, to this purpose, that her husband, 
Sir John Ayres, did lie falsely, but most falsely of all 
did lie when he said he had it from her confession, for 
she had never said any such thing. 

This letter the Lady Crook presented to me most 
opportunely, as I was going to the council table before 
the lords, who, having examined Sir John Ayres con- 
cerning the cause of his quarrel against me, found him 

* Kniglit of tlie Bath and Master of the Mint. 



94 THE LIFE OF 

still persist on his M^fe's confession of the fact ; and 
and now, he being withdrawn, I was sent for, when the 
Duke of Lenox,* afterwards of Richmond, telling me 
that was the ground of his quarrel, and the only excuse 
he had for assaulting me in that manner, I desired his 
lordship to peruse the letter, which I told him was 
given me as I came into the room ; this letter being 
publicly read by a clerk of the council, the Duke of 
Lenox then said that he thought Sir John Ayres the 
most miserable man living, for his wife had not only 
given him the lie, as he found by her letter, but his 
father had disinherited him for attempting to kill me in 
that barbarous fashion, which was most true, as I found 
afterwards. For the rest, that I might content myself 
with what I had done, it being more almost than could 
be believed, but that I had so many witnesses thereof; 
for all which reasons he commanded me, in the name 
of his majesty, and all their lordships, not to send any 
more to Sir John Ayres, nor to receive any message 
from him in the way of fighting, which commandment 
I observed : howbeit, I must not omit to tell that some 
years afterward Sir John Ayres returning from Ireland 
by Beaumaris, where I then was, some of my servants 
and followers broke open the doors of the house where 
he was, and would, I believe, have cut him into pieces, 
but that I, hearing thereof, came suddenly to the house 
and recalled them, sending him word also that I scorned 
to give him the usage he gave me, and that I would 
set him free of the town, which courtesy of mine, 
as I was told afterwards, he did thankfully acknowl- 
edge. 
About a month after that Sir John Ayres attempted 

* Lodowic Stuart, Duke of Lenox and Richmond, was Lord Steward of 
the Household and Knight of the Garter. 



EDWAED LORD HERBEKT. 95 

to assassinate me, the news thereof was carried, I know 
not how, to the Duke of Montmorency, who presently 
despatched a gentleman with a letter to me, which I 
keep, and a kind offer that if I would come unto him 
I should he used as his own son ; neither had this gen- 
tleman, as I know of, any other business in England. 
I was told besides by this gentleman that the duke 
heard I had greater and more enemies than did pub- 
licly declare themselves, which indeed was true, and 
that he doubted I might have a mischief before I was 
aware. 

My answer hereunto by letter was that I rendered 
most humble thanks for his great favor in sending to 
me ; that no enemies how gi-eat or many soever could 
force me out of the kingdom ; but if ever there were 
occasion to serve him in particular, I should not fail to 
come ; for performance whereof, it happening there were 
some overtures of a civil war in France the next year, 
I sent over a French gentleman, who attended me, unto 
the Duke of Montmorency, expressly to tell him that 
if he had occasion to use my service in the designed 
war I would bring over one hundred horse at my own 
cost and charges to him ; which that good old duke 
and constable took so kindly that (as the Duchess of 
Antedor,* his daughter, told me afterwards when I 
was ambassador) there were few days until the last of 
his life that he did not speak of me with much affection. 

I can say little more memorable concerning myself 
from the year 1611, when I was hurt, until the year of 
our Lord 1614, than that I passed my time sometimes in 
the court, where I protest before God I had more 
favors than I desired, and sometimes in the country, 
without any memorable accident ; but only that it 

* Ventadour. 



96 THE LIFE OF 

happened one time going from St. Gillian's to Aber- 
gavenny, in the way to Montgomery Castle, Richard 
Griffiths, a servant of mine, being come near a bridge 
over Husk not far from the town, thought fit to water 
his horse, but the river being deep and strong in that 
place where he entered it, he was carried down the 
stream ; my servants that were before me, seeing this, 
cried aloud Dick Griffiths w^as dro-wnaing, which I no 
sooner heard, but I put spurs to my horse, and coming 
up to the place, where I saw him as high as his middle 
in water, leaped into the river a little below him, and 
swimming up to him bpre him up with one of my 
hands and brought him into the middle of the river, 
where, through God's great providence, was a bank of 
sand ; coming hither, not without some difficulty, we 
rested ourselves, and advised whether it were better to 
return back unto the side from whence we came, or to 
go on forwards ; but Dick Griffiths saying we were 
sure to swim if we returned back, and that perchance 
the river might be shallow the other way, I followed 
his counsel, and, putting my horse below him, bore him 
up in the manner I did formerly, and, swimming through 
, the river, brought him safe to the other side. The 
horse I rode upon I remember cost me forty pounds, and 
was the same horse which Sir John Ayres hurt under 
me, and did swim exceedingly well, carrying me and his 
back above water ; whereas that little nag upon which 
Richard Griffiths rode swam so low that he must needs 
have drowned if I had not supported him. 

I will tell one history more of this horse, which I 
bought of my cousin Fowler of the grange, because it 
is memorable. I was passing over a bridge not far 
from Colebrook, which had no barrier on the one side, 
and a hole in the bridge not far from the middle, my 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 97 

horse, thougli lusty yet being very timorous, and seeing 
besides but very little on the right eye, started so much 
at the hole, that upon a sudden he had put half his 
body lengthMdse over the side of the bridge, and was 
ready to fall into the river, with his forefoot and hinder 
foot on the right side, when I, foreseeing the danger I 
was in if I fell down, clapped my left foot together with 
the stirrup and spur flat-long to the left side, and so 
made him leap upon all four into the river, whence 
after some three or four plunges he brought me to 
land. 

The year 1614 was now entering, when I understood 
that the Low Country and Spanish army would be in 
the field that year ; this made me resolve to offer my 
service to the Prince of Orange, who upon my coming 
did much welcome me, not suffering me almost to eat 
anywhere but at his table, and carrying me abroad the 
afternoon in his coach to partake of those entertain- 
ments he delighted in when there was no pressing 
occasion. The Low Country army being now ready, 
bis excellency prepared to go into the field; in the 
way to which he took me in his coach, and sometimes 
in a wagon after the Low Country fashion, to the great 
envy of the English and French chief commanders 
who expected that honor. Being now arrived near 
Emerick, one with a most humble petition came from 
a monastery of nuns, most humbly desiring that the 
soldiers might not violate their honor nor their monas- 
tery, whereupon I was a most humble suitor to his ex- 
cellency to spare them, which he granted ; ^' but," said 
he, '' we will go and see them ourselves "; and thus his 
excellency, and I and Sir Charles Morgan only, not 
long after going to the monastery, found it deserted in 
great part. Having put a guard upon this monastery, 



98 THE LIFE OF 

his excellency marched with his army on until we came 
near the city of Einerick, which, upon summoning, 
yielded ; and now leaving a garrison here, we resolved 
to march beyond Rice ; * this j)lace having the Spanish 
army under the command of Monsieur Spinola on the 
one side, and the Low Country army on the other, 
being able to resist neither, sent word to both armies, 
that whichsoever came first should have the place. 
Spinola hereupon sent word to his excellency that, if 
we intended to take Rice, he would give him battle 
in a plain nea rbefore the town. His excellency, noth- 
ing astonished hereat, marched on, his pioneers making 
his way for the army still, through hedges and ditches, 
until he came to that hedge and ditch which was next 
the plain; and here, drawing his men into battle, 
resolved to attend the coming of Spinola into the field ; 
while his men were putting in order, I was so desirous 
to see whether Spinola with his army appeared, I 
leaped over a great hedge and ditch, attended only 
with one footman, purposing to change a pistol-shot 
or two with the first I met. I found thus some single 
horse in the field, who, perceiving me to come on, rode 
away as fast as they could, believing perchance that 
more would follow me ; having thus passed to the fur- 
ther end of the field, and finding no show of the enemy, 
I returned back that I might inform his excellency 
there was no hope of fighting as I could perceive. In 
the mean time his excellency, having prepared all 
things for battle, sent out five or six scouts to discover 
whether the enemy were come according to promise; 
these men, finding me now coming towards them, 
thought I was one of the enemies, which being per- 
ceived by me, and I as little knowing at that time 

* Rees, in the Duchy of Cleves near Emerick. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 99 

who they were, rode up with my sword in my hand, 
and pistol, to encounter them ; and now heing come 
within reasonable distance, one of the persons there 
that knew me told his fellows who I was, whereupon 
I passed quietly to his excellency and told him what I 
had done, and that I found no appearance of an army ; 
his excellency then caused the hedge and ditch before 
him to be levelled, and marched in front with his army 
into the middle of the field, from whence, sending 
some of his forces to summon the town, it yielded 
without resistance. 

Oar army made that haste to come to the place ap- 
pointed for the battle, that all our baggage and pro- 
vision were left behind, insomuch that I was without 
any meat but what my footman spared me out of his 
pocket ', and my lodging that night was no better, for 
extreme rain falling at that time in the open field, I 
had no shelter, but was glad to get on the top of a 
wagon which had straw in it, and to cover myself 
with my cloak as well as I could, and so endure that 
stormy night. Morning being come, and no enemy 
appearing, I went to the town of Rice, into which his 
excellency, having now put a garrison, marched on 
with the rest of his army towards Wezel, before which 
Spinola with his army lay, and in the way intrenched 
himself strongly, and attended Spinola's motions. For 
the rest, nothing memorable happened after this, be- 
twixt those two great generals, for the space of many 
weeks. 

I must yet not omit with thankfulness to remember 
a favor his excellency did me at this time : for a soldier 
having killed his fellow-soldier, in the quarter where 
they were lodged, which is an unpardonable fault, in- 
somuch that no man would -speak for him, the poor 



100 THE LIFE OF 

fellow comes to me and desires me to beg his life of 
his excellency, whereupon I demanding whether he 
had ever heard of a man pardoned in this kind, and he 
saying no, I told him it was in vain then for me to 
speak ; when the poor fellow, writhing his neck a little, 
said, " Sir, hut were it not better you shall cast away a 
few words, than I lose my hfef" This piece of elo- 
quence moved me so much that I went straight to his 
excellency, and told him what the poor fellow had said, 
desiring him to excuse me if upon these tenns I took 
the boldness to speak for him. There was present at 
that time the Earl of Southampton,* as also Sir Ed- 
ward Cecil, and Sir Horace V ere, as also Monsieur de 
Chastillon, and divers other French commanders; to 
whom his excellency, turning himself, said in French, 
'' Do you see this cavalier? With all that courage you 
know, hath yet that good nature to pray for the life of 
a poor soldier : though I had never pardoned any before 
in this kind, yet I will pardon this at his request " : so 
commanding him to be brought me, and disposed of as 
I thought fit, whom therefore I released and set free. 

It was now so far advanced in autumn, both armies 
thought of retiring themselves into their garrisons, when 
a trumpeter comes into the Spanish army to ours, witli 
a challenge from a Spanish cavalier to this efi'ect, that 
if any cavalier in our army would fight a single combat 
for the sake of his mistress, the said Spaniard would 
meet him, upon assurance of the camp in our army. 
This challenge, being brought early in the morning, was 
accepted by nobody till about ten or eleven of the clock, 
when the report thereof coming to me, I went straight 

* Henry Wriotliesley, third Earl of Southampton. He had heen at- 
tainted with tlie Earl of Essex, hut was restored by King James and 
made Kuirht of the Garter. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 101 

to his excellency, and told him I desired to accept the 
challenge. His excellency thereupon, looking earnestly 
upon me, told me he was an old soldier, and that he 
had observed two sorts of men who used to send chal- 
lenges in this kind. One was, of those who, having lost 
perchance some part of their houor in the field against 
the enemy, would recover it again by a single fight. 
The other was, of those who sent it only to discover 
whether our army had in it men affected to give trial 
of themselves in this kind ; howbeit, if this man was 
a person without exception to be taken against him, 
he said there was none he knew upon whom he would 
sooner venture the honor of his army than myself; 
and this also he spoke before divers of the English and 
French commanders I formerly nominated. Hereupon, 
by his excellency's permission, I sent a trumpet to the 
Spanish army with this answer, that if the person who 
would be sent were a cavalier without reproach, I 
would answer him with such weapons as we should 
agree upon, in the place he offered ; but my trumpeter 
was scarcely arrived, as I believe, at the Spanish army 
when another trumpeter came to ours fi-om Spinola, 
saying the challenge was made without his consent, 
and that therefore he would not permit it. This mes- 
sage being brought to his excellency, with whom I then 
was, he said to me presently, '' This is strange ; they 
send a challenge hither, and w^heu they have done, 
recall it. I should be glad if I knew the true causes 
of it." " Sir," said I, '^ if you will give me leave, I will 
go to their army and make the like challenge as they 
sent hither ; it may be some scruple is made concern- 
ing the place appointed, being in your excellency's 
camp, and therefore I shall offer them the combat in 
their own." His excellency said, " I should never have 



102 THE LIFE OF 

persuaded you to this course, but since you voluntarily 
offer it, I must not deny that which you think to be for 
your honor." Hereupon, taking my leave of him, and 
desiring Sir Humphrey Tufton,* a brave gentleman, to 
bear me company, thus we too, attended only with two 
lackeys, rode straight towards the Spanish camp before 
Wezel ; coming thither without any disturbance, by 
the way, I was demanded by the guard, at the entering 
into their camp, with whom I would speak. I told them 
with the Duke of Newbourg, whereupon a soldier was 
presently sent with us to conduct us to the Duke of 
Newbourg's tent, who, remembering me well, since he 
saw me at the siege of Juliers, very kindly embraced 
me ; and therewithal demanding the cause of my coming 
thither, I told him the effect thereof in the manner I 
formerly set down ; to which he replied only, he would 
acquaint the Marquis Spinola therewith, who coming 
shortly after to the Duke of Newbourg's tent, with a 
great train of commanders and captains following him, 
he no sooner entered, but he turned to me and said 
that he knew well the cause of my coming, and that 
the same reasons which made him forbid the Spanish 
cavalier to fight a combat in the Prince of Orange's 
camp did make him forbid it in his, and that I should 
be better welcome to him than I would be, and there- 
upon entreated me to come and dine with him. I, find- 
ing nothing else to be done, did kindly accept the offer, 
and so attended him to his tent, where a brave dinner 
being put upon his table, he placed the Duke of New- 
bourg uppermost at one end of the table, and myself 
at the other, himself sitting below us, presenting with 
his own hand still the best of that meat his carver 
offered him. He demanded of me then in Italian, '^ Di 

* Third son of Sir John Tufton, and brother of Nicholas Earl of Thanet. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 103 

chemoriva Signer Francesco Vere?" — '^Of what died 
Sir Francis Vere ? " I told him, ''Per aver niente a fare/' 
— " Because he had nothing, to do." Spinola replied, 
'' E basta per un Grenerale," — " And it is enough to kill 
a general " ; and indeed that brave commander, Sir 
Francis Yere, died not in time of war but of peace. 

Taking my leave now of the Marquis Spinola, I told 
him that if ever he did lead an army against the infidels, 
I should adventure to be the first man that would die 
in that quarrel, and together demanded leave of him to 
see his army, which he granting, I took leave of him, 
and did at leisure view it ; observing the difference in 
the proceedings betwixt the Low Country army and 
fortifications as well as I could; and so, returning 
shortly after to his excellency, related to him the suc- 
cess of my journey. It happened about this time that 
Sir Henry Wotton mediated a peace by the king's com- 
mand, who coming for that purpose to Wezel, I took 
occasion to go along with him into Spinola's army, 
whence, after a night's stay, I went on an extreme 
rainy day through the woods to Kysarswert, to the 
great wonder of mine host, who said all men were 
robbed or killed that went that way ; from hence I 
went to CuUin,* where among other things I saw the 
monastery of St. Herbert ; from hence I went to Heidel- 
berg, where I saw the Prince and Princess Palatine, 
from whom, having received much good usage, I went 
to Ulm, and so to Augsburg, where extraordinary honor 
was done me, for coming into an inn where an ambas- 
sador from Brussels lay, the town sent twenty great 
flagons of wine thither, whereof they gave eleven to 
the ambassador, and nine to me : and withal some 
such compliments that I found my fame had preventedf 

* Cologne. 

t "Prevented/' in modern acceptation, "preceded." 



104 THE LIFE OF 

iny coming thither. From hence I went through 
Switzerland to Trent, and from thence to Venice, 
where I was received hy the English ambassador, Sir 
Dudley Carlton,* with much honor ; among other 
favors showed me, I was brought to see a nun in Mu- 
rano, who hemg an admirable beauty, and together 
singing extremely well, who was thought one of the 
rarities not only of that place but of the time. We 
came to a room opposite unto the cloister, whence she, 
coming on the other side of the grate betwixt us, sung 
so extremely well that when she departed, neither my 
lord ambassador nor his lady, who were then present, 
could find as much as a word of fitting language to 
return her for the extraordinary music she gave us; 
when I, being ashamed that she should go back with- 
out some testimony of the sense we had both of the 
harmony of her beauty and her voice, said in Italian, 
'^ Moria pur quando vuol, non bisogna mutar ni voce 
ni facia per esser un angelo," — '^ Die whensoever you 
will, you neither need to change voice nor face to be an 
angel." These words, it seemed, were fatal, for going 
thence to Rome, and returning shortly afterwards, I 
heard she was dead in the mean time. 

From "Venice after some stay I went to Florence, 
where I met the Earl of Oxfordf and Sir Benjamin 
Budierjt having seen the rarities of this place likewise, 
and particularly that rare chapel made for the house of 

* Ambassador to Venice, Savoy, and Holland, Secretary of State, and 
Viscount Dorchester. 

+ Henry Vere, Earl of Oxford. He died at the Hague in 1625, of a 
sickness contracted at the siege of Breda, where, being a very corpulent 
man, he had overheated himself. 

X Sir Benjamin Budyard was a man in great vogue in that age, a wit, 
and poet, and intimate friend of William Earl of Pembroke, with whose 
poems Sir Benjamin's are printed. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 105 

Medici, beautified on all the inside with a coarser kind' 
of precious stone, as also that nail which was at one 
end iron, and the other gold, made so by virtue of a 
tincture into which it was put. I went to Siena, and 
from thence, a little before the Christmas holidays, to 
Rome. I was no sooner alighted at my inn, but I went 
straight to the English college, where, demanding for 
the regent or master thereof, a grave person not long 
after appeared at the door, to whom I spake in this 
manner: '^ Sir, I need not tell you my country when 
you hear my language ; I come not here to study con- 
troversies, but to see the antiquities of the place ; if 
without scandal to the religion in which I was bom 
and bred up, I may take this liberty, I should be glad 
to spend some convenient time here ; if not, my horse 
is yet unsaddled, and myself willing to go out of the 
town." The answer returned by him to me was, that 
he never heard anybody befDre me profess himself 
of any other religion than what was used in Rome; 
for his part, he approved much my freedom, as collect- 
ing thereby I was a person of honor ; for the rest, that 
he could give me no warrant for my stay there, how- 
beit that experience did teach that those men who 
gave no affronts to the Roman Catholic religion re- 
ceived none ; whereupon also he demanded my name. 
I telling him I was called Sir Edward Herbert, he 
replied that he had heard men oftentimes speak of me 
both for learning and courage, and presently invited 
me to dinner. I told him that I took his courteous 
offer as an argument of his affection; that I desired 
him to excuse me if I did not accept it ; the uttermost 
liberty I had (as the times then were in England) 
being already taken in coming to that city only, lest 
they should think me a factious person ; I thought fit 



106 THE LIFE OF 

to tell him that I conceived the points agreed upon on 
both sides are greater bonds of amity betwixt us, than 
that the points disagreed on could break them ', that, 
for my part, I loved everybody that was of a pious 
and virtuous life, and thought the errors on what side 
soever were more worthy pity than hate; and hav- 
ing declared myself thus far, I took my leave of him 
courteously, and spent about a month's time in seeing 
the antiquities of that place, which first found means 
to establish so great an empire over the persons of 
men, and afterwards over their consciences : the articles 
of confession and absolving sinners being a greater 
Arcanum Imperii for governing the world, than all 
the arts invented by statists formerly were. 

After I had seen Rome sufficiently, I went to Tivoli, 
anciently called Tibur, and saw the fair palace and 
garden there, as also Frascati, anciently called Tuscu- 
lanum ; after that, I returned to Rome, and saw the 
Pope in consistory, which being done, when the Pope 
being now ready to give his blessing, I departed thence 
suddenly, which gave such a suspicion cf me, that 
some were sent to apprehend me, but I going a by- 
way escaped them, and went to my inn to take horse, 
where I had not been now half an hour, when the mas- 
ter or regent of the English college telling me that I 
was accused in the inquisition, and that I could stay 
no longer with any safety, I took this warning very 
kindly; howbeit I did only for the present change my 
lodging, and a day or two afterwards took horse and 
went out of Rome towards Siena, and from thence to 
Florence. 

After I had stayed awhile, from hence I went by 
Ferrara and Bologna towards Padua, in which univer- 
sity having spent some time to hear the learned readers^ 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 107 

and particularly Cremonini, I left my English horses 
and Scotch saddles there, for on them I rode all the way 
from the Low Countries. I went by boat to Venice : 
the Lord Ambassador, Sir Dudley Carlton, by this time 
had a command to reside awhile in the court of the 
Duke of Savoy, wherewith also his lordship acquainted 
me, demanding whether I would go thither ; this offer 
was gladly accepted by me, both as I was desirous to 
see that court, and that it was in the way to the Low 
Country, where I meant to see the war the summer 
ensuing. 

Coming thus in the coach with my lord ambassador 
to Milan, the governor thereof invited my lord ambas- 
sador to his house, and sometimes feasted him during 
his stay there : here I heard that famous nun singing 
to the organ in this manner ; another nun beginning 
first to sing, performed her part so well that we gave 
her much applause for her excellent art and voice; 
only we thought she did sing somewhat lower than 
other women usually did ; hereupon also, being ready 
to depart, we heard suddenly, for we saw nobody, 
that nun which was so famous, sing an eight higher 
than the 'Other had done; her voice was the sweetest, 
strongest, and clearest that ever I heard, in the using 
whereof also she showed that art as ravished us into 
admiration. 

From Milan we went to Novara, as I remember, 
where we were entertained by the governor, being a 
Spaniard, with one of the most sumptuous feasts that 
ever I saw, being but of nine dishes, in three several 
services; the first whereof was three oUas podiidas 
consisting of all choice boiled meats, placed in three 
large silver chargers, which took up the length of a 
great table ; the meat in it being heightened up arti- 



108 THE LIFE OF 

ficially, pyramid wise, to a sparrow, wliicli was on the 
top : the second service was like the former, of roast 
meat, in which all manner of fowl, from the pheasant 
and partridge, to other fowl less than them, were 
heightened up to a lark : the third was in sweet- 
meats dry of all sorts, heightened in like manner to a 
round comfit. 

From hence we went to Yercelly, a town of the Duke 
of Savoy's, frontier to the Spaniard, with whom the 
duke was then in war ; from whence, passing by places 
of least note, we came to Turin, where the Duke of 
Savoy's court was. After I had refreshed myself here 
some two or three days, I took leave of my lord ambas- 
sador with intention to go to the Low Countries, and 
was now upon the way thither, as far as the foot of 
Mount Cenis, when the Count Scarnafigi came to me 
from the duke * and brought a letter to this effect ; 
that the duke had heard I was a cavalier of great 
worth, and desirous to see the wars, and that if I would 
serve him I should make my own conditions : finding 
so courteous an invitation, I returned back, and was 
lodged by the Duke of Savoy in a chamber furnished 
M4th silk and gold hangings, and a very rich bed, and 
defrayed at the duke's charges, in the English ambas- 
sador's house. The duke also confirmed unto me what 
the Count Scarnafigi had said, and together bestowed 
divers compliments on me. I told his highness that 
when I knew in what service he pleased to employ me, 
he should find me ready to testify the sense I had of 
his princely invitation. 

It was now in the time of Carnival, when the duke, 
who loved the company of ladies and dancing as much 
as any prince whosoever, made divers masks and balls, 

* Charles Emanuel. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 109 

in which his own daughters among divers other ladies 
danced ; and here it was his manner to place me always 
with his own hand near some fair lady, wishing us 
both to entertain each other with some discourse, 
which was a great favor among the Italians ; he did 
many other ways also declare the great esteem he had 
of me without coming to any particular, the time of 
the year for going into the field being not yet come ; 
only he exercised his men often, and made them ready 
for his occasions in the spring. 

The duke, at last resolving how to use my service, 
thought fit to send me to Languedoc in France, to con- 
duct four thousand men of the reformed religion (who had 
promised their assistance in his war) unto Piedmont. 
I willingly accepted this offer ; so taking my leave of 
the duke, and bestowing about seventy or eighty pounds 
among his officers, for the kind entertainment I had re- 
ceived, I took my leave also of my lord ambassador, 
and Sir Albertus Moreton, who was likewise employed 
there, and prepared for my journey, for more expedi- 
tion of which I was desired to go post. An old Scotch 
knight of the Sandelands, hearing this, desired to bor- 
row my horses as far as Heidelberg, which I granted 
on condition that he would use tht^m well by the way, 
and give them good keeping in that place afterwards. 

The Count Scarnafigi was commanded to bear me 
company in this journey, and to carry with him some 
jewels, which he was to pawn in Lyons in France, and 
with the money gotten for them to pay the soldiers 
above nominated ; for though the duke had put ex- 
treme taxations on his people, insomuch that they paid 
not only a certain sum for every horse, ox, cow, or 
sheep that they kept, but afterwards for every chimney, 
and finally every single person by the poll, which 



110 THE LIFE OF 

amounted to a pistole, or fourteen shillings, a head or 
person, yet he wanted money : at which I did not so 
much wonder as at the patience of his suhjects; of 
whom I demanded how they could bear their taxa- 
tions. I have heard some of them answer, *' We 
are not so much offended with the duke for what he 
takes from us, as thankful for what he leaves us." 

The Count Scamafigi and I, now setting forth, rode 
post all day wdthout eating or drinking by the way, the 
count telling me still we should come to a good inn at 
night. It was now twilight when the count and I 
came near a solitary inn, on the top of a mountain. 
The hostess, hearing the noise of horses, came out, with 
a child new born on her left arm, and a rush candle in 
her hand ; she presently, knowing the Count de Scama- 
figi, told him, ^' Ah, signor, you are come in a very ill 
time ; the duke's soldiers have been here to-day, and 
have left me nothing." I looked sadly upon the count, 
when he, coming near to me,, whispered me in the ear, 
and said, "It maybe she thinks we will use her as the 
soldiers have done : go you into the house, and see 
whether you can find anything ; I will go round about 
the house, and perhaps I shall meet with some duck, 
hen, or chicken." Entering thus into the house, I 
found, for all other furniture of it, the end of an old form, 
upon which sitting down, the hostess came towards me 
with a rush candle, and said, " I protest before Grod 
that it is true which I told the count, here is nothing 
to eat ; but you are a gentleman, methinks it is pity 
you should want ; if you please, I will give you some 
milk out of my breasts, into a wooden dish I have 
here." This unexpected kindness made that impression 
on me, that I remember I was never so tenderly sen- 
sible of anything; my answer was, "God forbid I 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. Ill 

should take away the milk from the child I see in thy 
arms, howbeit I shall take it all my life for the greatest 
piece of charity that ever I heard of." And therewithal 
giving her a pistole, or a piece of gold of fourteen 
shillings, Scarnafigi and I got on horseback again and 
rode another post, and came to an inn where we found 
very coarse cheer, yet hunger made us relish it. 

In this journey I remember I went over Mount 
Gabelet by night, being carried down that precipice in 
a chair, a guide that went before bringing a bottle of 
straw with him, and kindling pieces of it from time to 
time, that we might see our way. Being at the bottom 
t>f a hill, I got on horseback and rode to Burgundy, re- 
solving to rest there awhile ; and the rather (to speak 
truly) that I had heard divers say, and particularly Sir 
JohnFinnet* and Sir Eichard Newport, f that the host's 
daughter there was the handsomest woman that ever 
they saw in then- lives. Coming to the inn, the Count 
Scarnafigi wished me to rest two or three hours, and he 
would go before to Lyons to prepare business for my 
journey to Languedoc. The host's daughter being not 
within, I told her father and mother that I desired only 
to see their daughter, as having heard her spoken of in 
England with so much advantage, that divers told me 
they thought her the handsomest creature that ever they 
saw. They answered she was gone to a marriage, and 
should be presently sent for, wishing me in the mean 
while to take some rest upon a bed, for they saw I 
needed it. Waking now about two hours afterguards, I 
found her sitting by me, attending when I would open 
mine eyes. I shall touch a little of her description ; 
her hair, being of a shining black, was naturally curled 

* Master of tlie Ccremoniis. 

t Afterwards created a baron, and ancestor of the Earls of Bradford. 



112 THE LIFE OF 

in that order that a curious woman would have dressed 
it, for one curl rising by degrees above another, and 
every bout tied with a small ribbon of a naccarine, or 
the color that the Knights of the Bath wear, gave a 
very graceful mixture, while it was bound up in this 
manner from the point of her shoulder to the crown of 
her head ; her eyes, which were round and black, seemed 
to be models of her whole beauty, and in some sort 
of her air, while a kind of light or flame came from 
them, not unlike that which the ribbon which tied up 
her hair exhibited. I do not remember ever to have 
seen a prettier mouth or whiter teeth; briefly, aU her 
outward parts seemed to become each other, neither 
was there anything that could be misliked, unless one 
should say her complexion was too brown, which, yet 
from the shadow, was heightened with a good blood in 
her cheeks. Her gown M^as a green Turkey grogram, 
cut all into panes or slashes, from the shoulder and 
sleeves unto the foot, and tied up at the distance of 
about a hand's -breadth everywhere with the same rib- 
bon with which her hair w^as bound ; so that her attire 
seemed as bizarre as her person. I am too long in de- 
scribing a host's daughter, howbeit I thought I might 
better speak of her than of divers other beauties held 
to be the best and fairest of the time whom I have often 
seen. In conclusion, after about an hour's stay, I de- 
parted thence, without offering so much as the least in- 
civility; and indeed after so much weariness, it was 
enough that her sight alone did somewhat refresh me. 
From hence I went straight to Lyons ; entering the 
gate, the guards there, after their usual manner, de- 
manded of me who I was, whence I came, and whither 
I went. To which, while I answered, I observed one of 
them look very attentively upon me, and then again 



EDWAED LORD HERBERT. 113 

upon a paper lie had in his hand ; this, having heen 
done divers times, bred in me a suspicion that there 
was no good meaning in it, and I was not deceived in 
my conjecture ; for the queen mother of France having 
newly made an edict that no soldiers should be raised 
in France, the Marquis de Eambouillet,* French ambas- 
sador at Turin, sent word of my employment to the 
Marquis de St. Chaumont, then governor of Lyons, as 
also a description of my person. This edict was so 
severe as they who raised any men were to lose their 
heads. In this unfortunate conjuncture of affairs noth- 
ing fell out so well on my part as that I had not 
raised as yet any men; howbeit, the guards requiring 
me to come before the governor, I went with them to a 
church where he was at vespers ; this while I walked in 
the lower part of the church, little imagining what 
danger I was in, had I levied any men. I had not 
walked there long, when a single person came to me 
appareled in a black stuff suit, Mithout any attendants 
upon him, when I, supposing this person to be any man 
rather than the governor, saluted him without much 
ceremony. His first question was, whence I came. I 
answered from Turin. He demanded then, whither I 
would go. I answered, I was not yet resolved. His 
third questiou was, what news at Turin; to which I 
answered, that I had no news to tell, as supposing him 
to be only some busy or inquisitive person. The mar- 
quis hereupon called one of the guards that conducted 
me thither, and after he had whispered something in 
his ear, wished me to go along with him, which I did 

* This gentleman, I believe, was husband of Madame de Rambouillet, 
whose assemblies of the wits and poets were so much celebrated in that 
age. They were parents of the famous Julie d'Angennes, Duchess de 
Montausier, well known by Voiture's letters to her. 



114 THE LIFE OF 

willingly, as believing this man would bring me to 
the governor. This man silently leading me out of the 
church brought me to a fair house, into which I was no 
sooner entered, but he told me I was commanded to 
prison there by him I saw in the church, who was the 
governor. I replied I did not know him to be governor, 
nor that that was a prison, and that if I were out of it 
again neither the governor nor all the town could bring 
me to it alive. The master of the house hereupon 
spoke me very fair, and told me he would conduct me 
to a better chamber than any I could find in an inn, 
and thereupon conducted me to a very handsome lodg- 
ing not far from the river. I had not been here half an 
hour when Sir Edward SackviUe,* now Earl of Dorset, 
hearing only that an Englishman was committed, sent 
to know who I was, and why I w^as imprisoned. The 
governor, not knowing whether to lay the fault upon my 
short answers to him, or my commission to levy men 
contrary to the queen's edict, made him so doubtful an 
answer, after he had a little touched upon both, as he 
dismissed him unsatisfied. 

Sir Edward SackviUe, hereupon coming to the house 
where I was, as soon as ever he saw me, embraced me, 
saying, ''Ned Herbert, what doest thou here?" I 
answered, ''Ned SackviUe, I am glad to see you, but 
I protest I know not why I am here." He again said, 
" Hast thou raised any men yet for the Duke of Sa- 
voy?" I replied, "Not so much as one." "Then," 
said he, "I will warrant thee, although I must tell thee, 
the governor is much offended at thy behavior and lan- 
guage in the church." I replied it was impossible for 
me to imagine him to be goverpof that pame without a 
guard, and in such mean clo|;hes as he then wore. " I 

* Well known by hJ8 4uel with the Lord Brace. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 115 

will go to him again, and tell Mm what you say, and 
doubt not but you shall be suddenly freed." Hereupon 
returning to the governor he told of what family I was, 
and of what condition, and that I had raised no men, 
and that I knew him not to be governor ; whereupon 
the marquis wished him to go back, that he would come 
in person to free me out of the house. 

This message being brought me by Sir Edward Sack- 
ville, I returned this answer only, that it was enough 
if he sent order to free me. While these messages 
passed, a company of handsome young men and women, 
out of I know not what civility, brought music under 
the window and danced before me, looking often up to 
see me ; but Sir Edward Sackville being now returned 
with order to free me, I only gave them thanks out of 
the window, and so went along with them to the gov- 
ernor. Being come into a great hall, where his lady 
was, and a large train of gentlewomen and other per- 
sons, the governor, with his hat in his hand, demanded 
of me whether I knew him. When his noble lady, 
answering for me, said, '^ How could he know you, 
when you were in the church alone, and in this habit, 
being for the rest wholly a stranger to you ? " Which 
civility of hers, although I did not presently take notice 
of it, I did afterwards most thankfully acknowledge 
when I was ambassador in France. The governor's 
next questions were the very same he made when he 
met me in the church ; to which I made the very same 
answers before them all, concluding that as I did not 
know him he could think it no incongruity if I answered 
in those terms : the governor yet was not satisfied here- 
with, and his noble lady, taking my part again, gave 
him those reasons for my answering him in that man- 
ner that they silenced him from speaking any farther. 



116 THE LIFE OF 

The governor turning back, I likewise, after an humble 
obeisance made to his lady, returned with Sir Edward 
Sackville to my lodgings. 

This night I passed as quietly as I could^ but the next 
morning advised with him what I was to do. I told 
him I had received a great affront, and that I intended 
to send him a challenge, in such courteous language 
that he could not refuse it. Sir Edward Sackville by all 
means dissuaded me fi'om it ; by which means I per- 
ceived I was not to expect his assistance therein, and, 
indeed, the next day he went out of town. 

Being alone now, I thought on nothing more than 
how to send him a challenge, which at last I penned 
to this effect; that whereas he had given me great 
offence without a cause, I thought myself bound as a 
gentleman to resent it, and therefore desired to sec 
Mm with his sword in his hand in any place he should 
appoint ; and hoped he would not interpose his author- 
ity as an excuse for not complying with his honor on 
this occasion, and that so I rested his humble servant. 

Finding nobody in town for two or three days, by 
whom I might send this challenge, I resolved for my 
last means to deliver it in person, and observe how he 
took it, intending to right myself as I could, when I 
found he stood upon his authority. 

This night it happened that Monsieur Terant, for- 
merly mentioned, came to the town ; this gentleman 
knowing me well, and remembering our acquaintance 
both at France and Juliers, wished there were some 
occasion for him to serve me. I presently hereupon, 
taking the challenge out of my pocket, told him he 
would oblige me extremely if he were pleased to 
deliver it, and that I hoped he might do it without 
danger, since I knew the French to be so brave a 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 117 

"nation that they would never refuse or dislike any- 
thing that was done in an honorable and worthy 
way. 

Terant took the challenge from me, and after he had 
read it, told me that the language was civil and dis- 
creet ; nevertheless he thought the governor would not 
return me that answer I expected ; howsoever, said he, 
I will deliver it. Returning thus to my inn, and intend- 
ing to sleep quieter that night than I had done three 
nights before, about one of the clock after midnight, 
I heard a great noise at my door which awakened me, 
certain persons knocking so hard as if they would 
break it, besides through the chinks thereof I saw 
light ; this made me presently rise in my shirt, when, 
drawing my sword, I went to the door and demanded 
who they were ; and together told them that if they 
came to make me prisoner, I would rather die with my 
sword in my hand ; and therewithal opening the door, 
I found upon the stairs half a dozen men armed with 
halberts, whom I no sooner prepared to resist but the 
chief of them told me that they came not to me from 
the governor, bat from my good friend the Duke of 
Montmorency, son to the duke I formerly mentioned, 
and that he came to town late that night, in his way 
from Languedoc (of which he was governor) to Paris ; 
and that he desired me, if I loved him, to rise presently 
and come to him, assuring me farther that this was 
most true; hereupon wishing them to retire them- 
selves, I dressed myself and went with them. They 
conducted me to the great hall of the governor, where 
the Duke of Montmorency and divers other cavaliers 
had been dancing with the ladies. I went presently to 
the Duke of Montmorency, who, taking me a little 
aside, told me that he had heard of the passages be- 



118 THE LIFE OF 

twixt the governor and me, and that I had sent him a 
challenge; howbeit, that he conceived men in his 
place were not bound to answer as private persons for 
those things they did by virtue of their office : never- 
theless, that I should have satisfaction in as ample 
manner as I could reasonably desire. Hereupon bring- 
ing me with him to the governor, he freely told me 
that noM' he knew who I was, he could do no less than 
assure me that he was sorry for what was done, and 
desired me to take this for satisfaction ; the Duke of 
Montmorency hereupon said presently, '^ C'est assez," — 
^^ It is enough." I then, turning to him, demanded 
whether he would have taken this satisfaction in the 
like case. He said, '^ Yes." After this, turning to the 
governor, I demanded the same question, to which he 
answered, that he would have taken the same satis- 
faction, and less too. I, kissing my hand, gave it him, 
who embraced me, and so this business ended. 

After some compliments passed between the Duke 
of Montmorency, who remembered the great love 
his father bore me, which he desired to continue in 
his person, and putting me in mind also of our being 
educated together for a while, demanded whether I 
would go with him to Paris. I told him that I was 
engaged to the Low Countries, but that wheresoever I 
was, I should be his most humble sers'^ant. 

My employment with the Duke of Savoy, in Langue- 
doc, being thus ended, I went fi'om Lyons to Geneva, 
w^iere I found also my fame had prevented my coming ; 
for the next morning after my arrival, the state taking- 
notice of me, sent a messenger in their name to con- 
gratulate my being there, and presented me with some 
flagons of wine, desiring me, if I stayed there any 
while, to see their fortifications, and give my opinion 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 119 

of them; which I did, and told them I thought they 
were weakest wliere they thought themselves the 
strongest, which was on the hilly part, where indeed 
they had made great fortifications ; yet, as it is a rule 
in war that whatsoever may be made by art may be 
destroyed by art again, I conceived they had need to 
fear the approach of an enemy on that part rather than 
any other. They replied that divers great soldiers had 
told them the same, and that they would give the best 
order they could to serve themselves on that side. 

Having rested here some while to take physic 
(my health being a little broken with long travel), I 
departed after a fortnight's stay to Basle, where, tak- 
ing a boat upon the river I came at length to Stras- 
bourg, and from thence went to Heidelberg, where 
I was received again by the prince elector and prin- 
cess with much kindness, and viewed at leisure the 
fair library there, the gardens, and other rarities of 
that place ; and here I found my horses I lent to 
Sandilands in good plight, which I then bestowed 
upon some servants of the prince, in way of retribu- 
tion for my welcome thither. From hence, Sir George 
Calvert* and myself went by water for the most part 
to the Low Countries, where, taking leave of each 
other, I went straight to his excellency, who did ex- 
traordinarily welcome me, insomuch that it was ob- 
served that he did never outwardly make so much of 
any one as myself. 

It happened this summer that the Low Country army 
was not drawn into the field, so that the Prince of 
Orange passed his time at playing at chess mth me 
after dinner, or in going to Reswick with him to see 

* Afterwards Lord Baltimore. See an account of him in the catalogue 
of " Royal and Noble Authors," Vol. II. 



120 THE LIFE OF 

his great horses, or in making love, in which also he 
used me as his companion, yet so that I saw nothing 
openly more than might argue a civil famiharity. 
When I was at any time from hitn, I did by his good 
leave endeavor to raise a troop of horse for the Duke 
of Savoy's service, as having obtained a commission 
to that purpose for my brother William, then an officer 
in the Low Country. Having these men in readiness, 
I sent word to the Count Scamafigi thereof, who was 
now ambassador in England, telling him that if he 
would send money my brother w^as ready to go. 

Scamafigi answered me, that he expected money 
in England, and that as soon as he received it, he 
would send over so much as would pay an hundred 
horse ; but a peace betwixt him and the Spaniard 
being concluded not long after at Asti, the whole 
charge of keeping this horse fell upon me, without 
ever to this day receiving any recompense. 

Winter now approaching, and nothing more to be 
done that year, I went to the Brill to take shipping for 
England. Sir Edward Conway, who was then gov- 
ernor at that place, and afterwards secretary of state, 
taking notice of my being there, came to me, and 
invited me every day to come to him, while I attended 
only for a wind j which serving at last for my journey. 
Sir Edward Conway conducted me to the ship, into 
which as soon as I was entered he caused six pieces of 
ordnance to be discharged for my farewell. I was 
scarce gone a league into the sea, when the wind turned 
contrary, and forced me back again ', returning thus to 
the BriU, Sir Edward Conway welcomed me as before ; 
and now after some three or four days, the wind serving 
he conducted me again to the ship, and bestowed six 
volleys of ordnance upon me. I was now about half- 



EDWARD LOED HERBERT. 121 

way to England, when a most cruel storm arose, which 
tore our sails and spent our masts, insomuch that the 
master of our ship gave us all for lost, as the wind was 
extreme high and together contrary ; we were can-ied 
at last, though wdth much difficulty, back again to the 
Brill, where Sir Edward Conv/ay did cons^ratuiate my 
escape, saying, he believed certainly that, considering 
the weather, I must needs be cast away. 

After some stay here mth my former welcome, the 
wind being now fair, I was conducted again to my ship 
by Sir Edward Conway, and the same volleys of shot 
given me, and was now scarce out of the haven when 
the wind again turned contrary, and drove me back. 
This made me resolve to try my fortune here no longer ; 
hiring a small bark, therefore, I went to the sluice, 
and from thence to Ostend, where finding company I 
went to Brussels. In the inn where I lay here an 
ordinary was kept, to which divers noblemen and prin- 
cipal officers of the Spanish army resorted; sitting 
among these at dinner, the next day after my arrival, 
no man knowing me, or informing himself who I was, 
they fell into discourse of divers matters in Italian, 
Spanish, and French, and at last three of them, one 
after another, began to speak of King James my master 
in a very scornful manner. I thought with myself then, 
that if I was a base fellow, I need not take any notice 
thereof, since no man knew me to be an Englishman, 
or that I did so much as understand their language ; 
but my heart burning within me, I, putting off my hat, 
arose from the table, and turning myself to those that 
sat at the upper end, who had said nothing to the king 
my master's prejudice, I told them in Italian : '' Son 
Tngiese (I am an Englishman), and should be unworthy 
to live if I suffered these words to be spoken of the king 



122 THE LIFE OF 

my master " ; and therewithal, turning myself to those 
who had injured the king, 1 said, '' You have spoken 
falsely, and I will fight with you all." Those at the 
upi^er end of the table, finding I had so much reason 
on my part, did sharply check those I questioned, and, 
to be brief, made them ask the king's forgiveness, 
wherewith also, the king's health being drank round 
about the table, I departed thence to Dunkirk, and 
thence to Graveling, wdiere I saw, though unknown, an 
English gentlewoman enter into a nunnery there. I 
M^ent thence to Calais ; it was now extreme foul weather, 
and I could find no master of a ship willing to adven- 
ture to sea ; howbeit my impatience was such that I 
demanded of a poor fisherman there whether he would 
go ', he answered his ship was worse than any in the 
haven, as being open above and without any deck, 
besides that it was old ; " but," saith he, '' I care for 
my life as little as you do, and if you will go, my boat 
is at your service." 

I was now scarce out of the haven when a high groM^n 
sea had almost overwhelmed us, the waves coming in 
very fast into our ship, which we laded out again the 
best w^e could ; notwithstanding which we expected 
every minute to be cast away. It pleased God yet, 
before we were gone six leagues into the sea, to cease 
the tempest, and give us a fair passage over to the 
Downs ; where, after giving God thanks for ray de- 
livery from this most needless danger that ever I did 
run, I went to London. I had not been here ten days 
when a quartan ague seized on me, which held me for 
a year and a half without intermission, and a year and 
a half longer at spring and fall ; the good days I had 
during all this sickness I employed in study, the ill 
being spent in as sharp and long fits as I think ever 



EDWAED LORD HERBERT. 123 

any man endured, which brought me at last to be so 
lean and yellow, that scarce any man did know me. 
It happened during this sickness, that I walked abroad 
one day towards Whitehall, where meeting with one 
Emerson, who spoke very disgraceful words of Sir 
Robert Harley, being then my dear friend, my weak- 
ness could not hinder me to be sensible of my friend's 
dishonor; shaking him therefore by a long beard he 
wore, I stepped a little aside and drew my sword in 
the street, Captain Thomas Scriven, a friend of mine, 
being not far off on one side, and divers friends of 
his on the other side ; all that saw me wondered how 
I could go, being so weak and consumed as I was, 
but much more that I would offer to fight : howsoever, 
Emerson, instead of drawing his sword, ran away into 
Suffolk House, and afterwards informed the lords of the 
council of what I had done ; who, not long after send- 
ing far me, did not so much reprehend my taking part 
with my friend, as that I would adventure to fight be- 
ing in such a bad condition of health. Before I came 
wholly out of my sickness, Sir George Villiers, after- 
wards Duke of Buckingham, came into the king's 
favor ; this cavalier, meeting me accidentally at the 
Lady Stanop's* house, came to me, and told me he 
had heard so much of my worth, as he would think 
himself happy if, by his credit with the king, he could 
do me any service ; I humbly thanked him, but told 
him that for the present I had need of nothing so much 
as health, but that if ever I had ambition, I should 
take the boldness to make my address by him. 

I was no sooner perfectly recovered of this long sick- 
ness but the Earl of Oxfv)rd and myself resoh^ed to 

* Catherine, daugliter of Francis Lord Hastings, first wife of Philip 
Loid Stanhope, afterwards created Earl of Chesterfield. 



124 THE LIFE OF 

raise two regiments for the service of the Yeiietians. 
While we were making ready for this journey, the king, 
having an occasion to send an ambassador into France, 
required Sir George Viliiers to present him with the 
names of the fittest men for that employment that he 
knew ; whereupon eighteen names, among w^hich mine 
was, being written in a paper, were presented to him. 
The king presently chose me, yet so as he desired first 
to have the approbation of his privy council, who, 
confirming his majesty's choice, sent a messenger to my 
house among gardens, near the Old Exchange, requir- 
ing me to come presently to them ; myself, little know- 
ing then the honor intended me, asked the messenger 
whether I had done any fault* that the lords sent for 
me so suddenly ; wishing him to tell the lords that I 
was going to dinner, and would afterwards attend them. 
I had scarce dined, when another messenger was sent ; 
this made me hasten to Whitehall, where I was no 
sooner come, but the lords saluted me by the name of 
lord ambassador of France. I told their lordships, there- 
upon, that I was glad it was no worse, and that I 
doubted that by their speedy sending for me some com- 
plaint, though false, might be made against me. 

My first commission was, to renew the oath of alli- 
ance betwixt the two crowns, for which purpose I was 
extraordinary ambassador, w^hich being done, I was to 
reside there as ordinary. I had received now about six 
or seven hundred pounds towards the charges of my 
journey, and locked it in certain cofi'ers in my bouse, 
when the night following, about one of the clock, I 
could hear divers men speak and knock at the door, 
in that part of the house where none did lie but myself, 
my wife and her attendants, my servants being lodged 
in another house not far off; as soon as I heard the 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 125 

noise, I suspected presently tliey came to rob me of 
my money ; howsoever I thought fit to rise, and go to 
the window to know who they M^ere ; the first word I 
heard was, ^'Darest thou come do\^ra, Welshman f" 
which I no sooner heard, but, taking a sword in one 
hand, and a little target in the other, I did in my shirt 
run down the stairs, open the doors suddenly, and 
charged ten or twelve of them with that fury that they 
ran away, some throwing away their halberts, others 
hurting their fellows to make them go fiister in a nar- 
row way they were to pass ; in which disordered man- 
ner I drove them to the middle of the street by the 
Exchange, where, finding my bare feet hurt by the 
stones I trod on, I thought fit to return home, and. 
leave them to their flight. My servants, hearing the 
noise, by this time were got up, and demanded whether 
I would have them pursue those rogues that fled away ; 
but I answering that I thought they were out of their 
reach, we returned home together. 

While I was preparing myself for my journey, it 
happened that I, passing through the Inner Temple 
one day, and encountering Sir Robert Yaughan in this 
country, some harsh words passed betwixt us, which 
occasioned him at the persuasion of others, whom I 
wiU not nominate, to send me a challenge; this was 
brought me at my house in Blackfriars by Captain 
Charles Price upon a Sunday about one of the clock 
in the afternoon ; when I had read it, I told Charles 
Price that I did ordinarily bestow this day in devotion, 
nevertheless, that I would meet Sir Eobert Vaughan 
presently, and gave him thereupon the length of my 
sword, demanding whether he brought any second with 
him ; to which Charles Price replying that he M^ould 
be in the field with him, I told my brother Sir Henry 



126 THE LIFE OF 

Her'bert, then present, thereof, who readily offermg 
himself to he my second, nothing was wanting now 
but the place to he agreed upon hetwixt us, which 
was not far from the waterside near Chelsea. 

My hrother and I, taking boat presently, came to the 
place, where after we had stayed about two hours in 
vain, I desired my brother to go to Sir Robert Yaughan's 
lodging, and tell him that I now attended his coming 
a great while, and that I desired him to come away 
speedily ; hereupon my brother went, and after a while 
returning back again, he told me they were not ready 
yet } I attended then about an hour and a half longer, 
but as he did not come yet, I sent my brother a second 
time to call him away, and to tell him I caught cold, 
nevertheless that I would stay there till sunset ; my 
brother yet could not bring him along, but returned 
himself to the place, where we stayed together till half 
an hour after sunset, and then returned home. 

The next day the Earl of Worcester,* by the king's 
command, forbid me to receive any message or letter 
from Sir Robert Vaughan, and advertised me withal, 
that the king had given him charge to end the business 
betwixt us, for which purpose he desired me to come 
before him the next day about two of the clock ; at 
which time, after the earl had told me, that being now 
made ambassador and a public person, I ought not to 
entertain private quarrels ; after which, without much 
ado, he ended the business betwixt Sir Robert. Vaughan 
and myself : it was thought by some, that this would 
make me lose my place, I being under so great an 
obligation to the king for my employment in France ; 
but Sir George Villiers, afterwards Duke of Buckiug- 

* Edward Somerset, Earl of Worcester, Lord Privy seal and Kniglit of 
the Garter. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 127 

ham, told me he would warrant me for this one time, 
but I must do so no more. 

I was now almost ready for my journey, and had 
received already as choice a company of gentlemen for 
my attendants as I think ever followed an ambassador ; 
when some of my private friends told me that I was 
not to trust so much to my pay from the exchequer, 
but that it was necessary for me to take letters of credit 
with me, for as much money as I could well procure. 
Informing myself hereupon who had furnished the last 
ambassador, I was told Monsieur Savage, a Frenchman ; 
coming to his house, I demanded whether he would 
help me with moneys in France, as he had done the 
last ambassador ; he said he did not know me, but 
would inform himself better who I was ; departing thus 
from him, I went to Signor Burlamacchi, a man of great 
credit in those times, and demanded of him the same; 
his answer was, that he knew me to be a man of honor, 
and I had kept my word with everybody ; whereupon, 
also going to his study, gave me a letter of credit to 
one Monsieur de Langherac in Paris, for £2000 sterling. 
I then demanded what security he expected for this 
money ; he said he would have nothing but my prom- 
ise ; I told him he had put a great obligation upon 
me, and that I would strive to acquit myself of it the 
best I could. 

Having now a good sum of money in my coffers, 
and this letter of credit, I made ready for my journey. 
The day I went out of London I remember, was the 
same in which Queen Anne was carried to burial, which 
was a sad spectacle to all that had occasion to honor her. 
My first night's journey was to Gravesend, where being 
at supper in my inn, Monsieur Savage, formerly men- 
tioned, came to me, and told me, that whereas I had 



128 THE LIFE OF 

spoken to liim for a letter of credit, he had made one 
which he thought would be to my contentment; I 
demanded to whom it was directed; he said to Mon- 
sieur Talleinant and Rambouillet in Paris ; I asked 
then what they were worth ; he said above one hundred 
thousand pounds sterling ; I demanded how much this 
letter of credit was ; he said for as much as I should 
have need of; I asked what security he required; he 
said nothing but my word, which he had heard was 
inviolable. 

From Gravesend, by easy journeys, I went to Dover, 
where I took shipping, with a train of a hundred and 
odd persons, and arrived shortly after at Calais, where 
I remember my cheer was twice as good as at Dover, 
and my reckoning half as cheap ; from whence I went 
to Boulogne, Monstreville, Abbeville, Amiens, and in 
two days thence to St. Denis near Paris, where 1 was 
met with a great train of coaches, that were sent to 
receive me, as also by the Master of the Ceremonies, 
and Monsieur Mennon, my fellow-scholar, with Mon- 
sieur Disancour, who then kept an academy, and 
brought with him a brave company of gentlemen on 
great horses to attend me into town. 

It was now somewhat late when I entered Paris, 
upon a Saturday night ; I was but newly settled in my 
lodging, when a secretary of the Spanish ambassador 
there told me that his lord desired to have the first 
audience from me, and therefore .requested he might 
see me the next morning ; I replied it was a day I 
gave wholly to devotion, and therefore entreated him 
to stay until some more convenient time : the secretary 
replied that his master did hold it no less holy ; howbeit 
that his respect to me was such that he would prefer 
the desire he had to serve me before all other con- 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT, 129 

siderations ; howsoever, I put him off lintil Monday 
following. 

Not long after I took a house in Faubourg St. 
Germain, Rue Toumon, which cost me £ 200 sterling 
yearly ; having furnished the house richly, and lodged 
all my train, I prepared for a journey to Tours and 
Touraine, where the French court then was : being 
come hither in extreme hot weather, I demanded au- 
dience of the king and queen, which being granted, I 
did assure the king of the great affection the king my 
master bore him, not only out of the ancient alliance 
betwixt the two crowns, but because Henry the Fourth 
and the king my master had stipulated with each other, 
that whensoever any one of them died, the survivor 
should take care of the other's child : I assured him, 
farther, that no charge was so much imposed upon me 
by my instructions, as that I should do good offices 
betwixt both kingdoms, and therefore that it were a 
great fault in me if I behaved myself otherwise than 
with all respect to his majesty : this being done, I pre- 
sented to the king a letter of credence from the king 
my master : the king assured me of a reciprocal affec- 
tion to the king my master, and of my particular wel- 
come to his court J his words were never many, as 
being so extreme a stutterer that he would sometimes 
hold his tongue out of his mouth a good while before 
he could speak so much as one word ; he had besides 
a double row of teeth, and was observed seldom or never 
to spit or blow his nose, or to sweat much, though he 
were very laborious, and almost indefatigable in his ex- 
ercises of hunting and hawking, to which he was much 
addicted : neither did it hinder him, though he was 
burst in his body, as we call it, or herniosus ; for he was 
noted in those sports, though oftentimes on foot, to tire 



130 THE LIFE OF 

not only his courtiers, "but even his lackeys, heing 
equally insensihle, as was thought, either of heat or 
cold; his understanding and natural parts were as 
good as could he expected in one that was hrought up 
in so much ignorauce, which was on pui-pose so done 
that he might be the longer governed; howbeit, he 
acquired in time a great knowledge in affairs, as con- 
versing for the most part with wise and active persons. 
He was noted to have two qualities incident to all who 
were ignorantly hrought up, suspicion and dissimula- 
tion; for as ignorant persons walk so much in the 
dark, they cannot he exempt irom fear of stumbling ; 
and as they are likewise deprived of, or deficient in 
those true principles, by which they should govern both 
public and private actions in a wise, solid, and demon- 
strative way, they strive commonly to supply these im- 
perfections with covert arts, which, although it may 
be sometimes excusable in necessitous persons, and be 
indeed frequent among those who negotiate in small 
matters, yet condemnable in princes, who, proceeding 
upon foundations of reason and strength, ought not to 
submit themselves to such poor helps ; howbeit, I must 
observe that neither his fears did take away his courage 
when there was occasion to use it, nor his dissimulation 
extend itself to the doing of private mischiefs to his 
subjects, either of one or the other religion : his favor- 
ite was one Monsieur de Luynes, who in his nonage 
gained much upon the king by making hawks fly at 
all little birds in his gardens, and by making some 
of those little birds again catch butterflies ; and had the 
king used him for no other purpose, he might have been 
tolerated; but as, when the king came to a riper age, 
the government of public affairs was drawn chiefly 
from his counsels, not a few errors were committed. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 131 

The queen-mother^ princes, and nobles of that king • 
dom repined that his advices to the king should he so 
prevalent, which also at last caused a civil war in that 
kingdom. How unfit this man was for the credit he 
had with the king may be argued by this, that when 
there was question made about some business in Bo- 
hemia, he demanded whctlier it was an inland country 
or lay upon the sea ; and thus much for the present of 
the king and his favorite. 

After my audience with the king, I had another from 
the queen, being sister to the King of Spain. I had 
little to say unto her but some compliments on the king 
my master's part, but such compliments as her sex and 
quality were capable of. This queen was exceedingly 
fliir, like those of the House of Austria, and together 
of so mild and good a condition she was never noted 
to have done ill offices to any, but to have mediated as 
much as was possible for her, in satisfacticjn of those 
who had any suit to the king, as far as their cause would 
bear. She had now been married divers years without 
having any children, although so ripe for them that 
nothing seemed to be wanting on her part. I remem- 
ber her the more particularly that she showed publicly 
at my audiences that favor to me as not only my ser- 
vants but divers others took notice of it. After this 
my first audience, I went to see Monsieur de Luynes 
and the principal ministers of state, as also the princes 
and princesses, and ladies then in the court, and par- 
ticularly the Princess of Conti, from whom I carried 
the scarf formerly mentioned ; and this is as much as I 
shall declare in this place concerning my negotiation 
with the king and state; my purpose being, if God 
sends me life, to set them forth apart, as having the 
copies of all my despatches in a great trunk in my house 



132 THE LIFE OF 

in London; and considering that in the time of my 
stay tliere, there were divers civil wars in that country, 
and that the prince, now king, passed, with my Lord 
of Buckingham and others, through France into Spain, 
and the business of the elector palatine in Bohemia, 
and the battle of Prague, and divers other memorable 
accidents, both of state and war, happened during the 
time of my employment, I conceive a narration of them 
may be worth the seeing to them who have it not from a 
better hand. I shall only, therefore, relate here, as they 
come into my memory, certain little passages, which 
may serve in some part to declare the history of my life. 
Coming back fi'om Tours to Paris, I gave the best 
order I could concerning the expenses of my house, 
family, and stable, that I might settle all things as near 
as was possible in a certain course ; allowing, according 
to the manner of France, so many pounds of beel", 
mutton, veal, and pork, and so much also in turkeys, 
capons, pheasants, partridges, and all other fowls, as 
also pies and tarts after the French manner, and after 
all this a dozen dishes of sweetmeats every meal con- 
stantly : the ordering of these things was the heavier 
to me, that my wife flatly refused to come over into 
France, as being now entered into a dropsy, which also 
had kept her without children for many years ; I was 
constrained, therefore, to make use of a steward, who 
was understanding and diligent, but no very honest 
man; my chief secretary was William Boswell, now 
the king's agent in the Low Countries ; my secretary 
fvir the French tongue was one Monsieur Ozier, who 
afterwards was the king's agent in France ; the gentle- 
man of my horse was Monsieur de Meny, M^ho after- 
wards commanded a thousand horse in the wars C;f 
Germany, and proved a very gallant gentleman; Mr. 



EDWARD LOED HERBERT. 133 

Crofts was one of my principal gentlemen, and afterwards 
made the king's cup-bearer ; and Thomas Caage, that 
excellent wit, the king's carver; Edmund Taverner, 
whom I made my under secretary, was afterwards chief 
secretary to the lord chamberlain ; and one Mr. Smith, 
secretary to the Earl of Northumberland : I nominate 
these, and could many more, that came to very good 
f irtunes afterwards, because I may verify that which I 
said before concerning the gentlemen that attended me. 

When I came to Paris the English and French were 
in. very ill intelligence with each other, insomuch that 
one Buckley, coming then to me, said he was assaulted 
and hurt upon Pontneuf, only because he was an 
Englishman; nevertheless, after I had been in Paris 
about a month, all the English were so welcome thither 
that no other nation was so acceptable amongst them, in- 
somuch that my gentlemen having a quarrel with some 
debauched French, who in their drunkenness quarrelled 
with them, divers principal gentlemen of that nation of- 
fared themselves to assist my people with their swords. 

It happened one day that my cousin Oliver Herbert, 
and George Radney, being gentlemen who attended 
me, and Henry Whittingham, my butler, had a quarrel 
with some French, upon I know not what frivolous 
occasion ; it happened my cousin Oliver Herbert had 
fjr his opposite a fencer belonging to the Prince of 
Conde, who was dangerously hurt by him in divers 
places; but as the house or hostel of the Prince of 
Conde was not far off, and himself well beloved in 
those quarters, the French, in great multitudes arising, 
drove away the three above-mentioned into my house, 
pursuing them within the gates ; I, perceiving this at a 
window, ran out Mdth my sword, which the people no 
sjouer saw, but they lied again as fast as ever they 



134 THE LIFE OF 

entered; howsoever, the Prince of Ccnde his fencer 
was in that danger of his Hfe that Oliver Herbert was 
forced to fly France, which, that he might do the bet- 
ter, I paid the said fencer two hundred crowns, or sixty 
pounds sterhng, for his hurt and cures. 

The phxgue being now hot in Paris, I desired the 
Duke of Montmorency to lend me the castle of Merlou, 
where I lived in the time of the most noble father, Mdiich 
he willingly granted ; removing thither, I enjoyed that 
sweet place and country, wherein I found not a few 
that M^elcomed me out of their ancient acquaintance. 

On the one side of me was the Baron de Montaterre, 
of the reformed religion, and Monsieur de Bouteville on 
the other, who, though young at the time, proved after- 
wards to be that brave cavaUer which all France did 
so much celebrate ; in both their castles likewise were 
ladies of much beauty and discretion, and particularly 
a sister of Bouteville, thought to be one of the chief 
perfections of the time, whose company yielded some 
divertisement when my public occasions did suffer it. 

Winter being now come, I returned to my house in 
Paris, and prepared for renewing the oath of alliance 
betwixt the two crowns, for which, as I said formerly, 
I had an extraordinary commission ; nevertheless, the 
king put off the business to as long a time as he well 
could. In the mean while Prince Henry of Nassau, 
brother to Prince Maurice, coming to Paris, was met 
and much welcomed by me, as being obliged to him, 
no less than to his brother in the Low Countries. 
This prince and all his train were feasted by me at 
Paris with a hundred dishes, costing, as I remember, 
in all a hundred pounds. 

The French king at last resolving upon a day for per- 
forming the ceremony betwixt the two crowns above- 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 135 

mentioned, myself and all my train put ourselves into 
that sumptuous equipage that I remember it cost me 
one way or another above one thousand pounds. And 
truly, the magnificence of it was such, as a little French 
book was presently printed thereof: this being done, 
I resided here in the quality of an ordinary ambassador. 
And now I shall mention some particular passages 
concerning myself, without entering yet any way into 
the whole frame and context of my negotiation, reserv- 
ing them, as I said before, to a particular treatise. I 
spent my time much in the visits of the princes, coun- 
cil of state, and great persons of the French kingdom, 
who did ever punctually requite my visits : the like I 
did also to the chief ambassadors there, among whom, 
the Venetian, Low Country, Savoy, and the united 
princes in Germany ambassadors did bear me that 
respect, that they usually met in my house, to ad- 
vise together concerning the great affairs of that time ; 
for, as the Spaniard then was so potent that he seemed 
to affect an universal monarchy, all the above-men- 
tioned ambassadors did in one common interest strive 
to oppose him : all our endeavors yet could not hinder 
but that he both publicly prevailed in his attempts 
abroad, and privately did corrupt divers of the princi- 
pal ministers of state in this kingdom. I came to 
discover this by many ways, but by none more effect- 
ually than by the means of an Italian, who returned 
over by letters of exchange the moneys the Spanish 
ambassador received for his occasions in France ; for I 
perceived that when the said Italian was to receive an 
extraordinary great sum for the Spanish ambassador's 
use, the whole face of affairs was presently changed, 
insomuch that neither my reasons, nor the ambassa- 
dors above-mentioned, how valid soever, could prevail; 



136 THE LIFE OF 

though yet aftei-wards we found means together to re- 
duce affaks to their former train, till some other new 
great sum coming to the Spanish ambassador's hand, 
and from thence to the aforesaid ministers of state, 
altered all. Howbeit, divers visits passed betwixt the 
Spanish ambassador and myself, in one of which he 
told me that though our interests were divers, yet we 
might continue friendship in our particular persons ; for, 
said he, ''it can be no occasion of offence betwixt us 
that each of us strive the best he can to serA^e the king 
his master." I disliked not his reasons, though yet I 
could not omit to tell him that I would maintain the 
dignity of the king my master the best I could ; and 
this I said, because the Spanish ambassador had taken 
place of the English in the time of Henry the Fourth in 
this fashion, they both meeting in an antechamber to 
the secretary of state, the Spanish ambassador leaning 
to the wall in that posture that he took the hand of the 
English ambassador, said publicly, " I hold this place 
in the right of the king my master " ; which small 
punctilio, being not resented by our ambassador at 
that time, gave the Spaniard occasion to brag that he 
had taken the hand fi-om our ambassador. This made 
me more watchful to regain the honor which the 
Spaniard pretended to have gotten herein, so that, 
tiiough the ambassador in his visits often repeated the 
words above-mentioned, being in Spanish, " Que cada 
uno haga lo que pudiere por su amo," — '^ Let every man 
do the best he can for his master," — I attended 
the occasion to write my master ; it happened one day 
that both of us going to the French king for our sev- 
eral affairs, the Spanish ambassador between Paris and 
Estampes, being upon his way, before me in his coach, 
with a train of about sixteen or eighteen persons on 



EDWARD LORD HERBEI^T. 137 

horseback, I, following him in my coach with about 
ten or twelve horses, found that either I must go the 
Spanish pace, which is slow, or if I hasted to pass him, 
that I must hazard the suifering of some affront like unto 
that our former ambassador received ; proposing here- 
upon to my gentlemen the whole business, I told them 
that I meant to redeem the honor of the king my 
master some way or other, demanding farther whether 
they would assist me ; which they promising, I bid the 
coachman drive on; the Spanish ambassador seeing 
me approach, and imagining what my intention was, 
sent a gentleman to me, to tell me he desired to salute 
me, which I accepting, the gentleman returned to the 
ambassador, who alighting from his coach attended me 
in the middle of the highway, which being perceived 
by me I alighted also, when some extravagant com- 
pliments having passed betwixt us, the Spanish am- 
bassador took his leave of me, went to a dry ditch 
not far off, but indeed to hold the upper hand of me 
while I passed by in my coach, which being observed 
by me I left my coach and, getting upon a spare horse 
I had there, rode into the said dry ditch, and, telling 
him aloud that I knew well why he stood there, bid 
him afterwards get to his^ coach, for I must ride that 
way ; the Spanish ambassador, who understood me well, 
went to his coach grumbling and discontented, though 
yet neither he nor his train did any more than look 
one upon another in a confused manner ; my coacli 
this while passing by the ambassador on the same 
side I was, I shortly after left my horse and got 
into it : it happened this while, that one of my coach 
horses having lost a shoe, I thought fit to stay at 
a smith's forge, about a quarter of a mile before ; 
this shoe could not be put on so soon but that the 



138 . THE LIFE OF 

Spanish ambassador overtook us, and might indeed 
have passed us, but that he thought I would give him 
another affront ; attending therefore the smith's leisure, 
he stayed in the highway to our no little admiration, 
until my horse M^as shod; we continued our journey 
to Estampes, the Spanish ambassador following us still 
at a good distance. 

I should scarce have mentioned this passage but 
that the Spaniards do so much stand upon their Pun- 
donores ; for confirming whereof I have thought fit to 
remember the answer a Spanish ambassador made to 
Philip the Second, King of Spain, who, finding fault 
with him for neglecting a business of great importance 
in Italy, because he could not agree with the French 
ambassador about some such Pundonore as this, said 
to him, '^ Como a dexado una cosa de importancia per 
una ceremonia ! " — " How, have you left a business of 
importance for a ceremony ? " The ambassador boldly 
repMed to his master, "Como por una ceremonia? 
Vuesa majestas misma no es sino una ceremonia," — 
" How, for a ceremony? Your majesty's self is but a 
ceremony." 

Howsoever the Spanish ambassador taking no notice 
publicly of the advantage I had of him herein, dis- 
sembled it, as I heard, until he could find some fit 
occasion to resent this passage, which yet he never did 
to this day. 

Among the visits I rendered to the grandees of 
France, one of the principal I made was to that brave 
general the Duke of Lesdigueres, who was now growTi 
very old and deaf; his first words to me were, "Mon- 
sieur, you must do me the honor to speak high, for I 
am deaf" ; my answer to him was, '' You was born to 
command and not to obey } it is enough if others have 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 139 

ears to hear you " : this compliment took him much, 
and indeed I have a manuscript of his military precepts 
and observations, which I value at a great price. 

I shall relate now some things concerning myself, 
which, though they may seem scarce credible, yet be- 
fore God are true. I had been now in France about a 
year and a half, when my tailor, Andrew Henly of 
BasU, who now lives in Blackfriars, demanded of me 
half a yard of satin to make me a suit more than I was 
accustomed to give, of which I required a reason, say- 
ing, I was not fatter now than when I came to France ; 
he answered, ''■ It was true, but you are taller " : where- 
unto when I would give no credit, he brought his old 
measures, and made it appear that they did not reach 
to their just places ; I told him I knew not how this 
happened, but howsoever he should have half a yard 
more, and that when I came into England I would 
clear the doubt, for a little before my departure thence, 
I remember William Earl of Pembroke and myself did 
measure heights together at the request of the Countess 
of Bedford, and he was then higher than I by about 
the breadth of my little finger : at my return therefore 
into England I measured again with the same earl, 
and to both our great wonders found myself taller than 
he by the breadth of a little finger; which growth of 
jnine I could attribute to no other cause but to my 
quartan ague formerly mentioned, which, when it 
quitted me, left me in a more perfect health than I for- 
merly enjoyed. 

I weighed myself in balances often with men lower 
than myself by the head, and in their bodies slenderer, 
and yet was found lighter than they, as Sir John Davers, 
Knight, and Richard Griffiths, now living, can mtness, 
with both whom I have been weighed ; I had also, and 



140 THE LIFE OF 

have still, a pulse on the crown of my head ; it is well 
known to those that wait in my chamber that the 
shirts, waistcoats, and other garments I wear next my 
body are sweet, beyond what either easily can be be- 
lieved, or hath been observed in any else, which sweet- 
ness also was found to be in my breath above others, 
before I used to take tobacco, which towards my latter 
time I was forced to take against certain rheums and 
catarrhs that trouble me, which yet did not taint my 
breath for any long time ; I scarce ever felt cold in my 
life, though yet so subject to catarrh that I think no 
man ever was more obnoxious to it ; all which I do in 
a familiar way mention to my posterity, though other- 
wise they might be thought scarce worth the writing. 

The effect of my being sent into France by the king 
my master being to hold all good intelligence betwixt 
both crowns, my employment was both noble and 
pleasing, and my pains not great, France having no 
design at that time upon England, and King James 
being that pacific prince all the world knew. And 
thus, besides the times I spent in treaties and negotia- 
tions I had either with the ministers of state in France, 
or foreign ambassadors residing in Paris, I had spare 
time, not only for my book, but for visits to divers 
grandees, for little more ends than obtaining some in- 
telligence of the affairs of that kingdom and civil con- 
versation, for which their free, generous, and cheerful 
company was no little motive ; persons of all quality 
being so addicted to have mutual entertainment with 
each other, that in calm weather one might find all the 
noble and good company in Paris of both sexes, either 
in the garden of the Tuileries, or in the park of Bois 
de Vincennes, they thinking it almost an incivility to 
refuse their presence and free discourse to any who were 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 141 

capaWe of coming to those places, either under the 
recommendation of good parts, or but so much as hand- 
some clothes and a good equipage ; when foul weather 
was, they spent their time in visits at each other's 
houses, where they interchanged civil discourses, or 
heard music, or fell to dancing, using, according to the 
manner of that country, all the reasonable liberties 
they could with their honor ; while their manner was, 
either in the garden of the Tuileries or elsewhere if 
any one, discoursing with a lady, did see some other of 
good fashion approach to her, he would leave her and 
go to some other lady, he who conversed with her at 
that time quitting her also and going to some other, 
that so addresses might be made equal and free to all 
without scruple on any part, neither was exception 
made or quarrel begun upon these terms. 

It happened one day that I being ready to return from 
the Tuileries, about eight of the clock in the summer, 
M^th intention to write a despatch to the king about 
some intelligence I had received there, the queen at- 
tended with her principal ladies, without so much as 
one cavalier, did enter the gardens; I stayed on one 
side of an alley there to do my reverence to her and the 
rest, and so return to my hous3, when the queen, per- 
ceiving me, stayed awhile as if she expected I should at- 
tend her, but as I stirred not more than to give her that 
great respect I owed her, the Princess of Conti, who was 
next, called me to her, and said I must go along with 
her ; but I excusing myself upon occasion of a present 
despatch which I was to make unto his majesty, the 
Duchess of Antador, who followed her, came to me, and 
said I must not refuse her, whereupon, leading her by 
her arms, according to the manner of that country, the 
Princess of Conti, offended that I had denied her that 



142 THE LIFE OF 

civility, which I had yielded to another, took me off, 
after she had demanded the consent of the duchess, but 
the queen then also staying, I left the princess, and 
with all due humility, went to the queen and led her by 
the arms, walking thus to a place in the garden where 
some orange-trees grew, and here, discoursing wdth her 
majesty bareheaded, some small shot fell on both our 
heads ; the occasion whereof was this, the king being in 
the garden, and shooting at a bird in the air, which he 
did with much perfection, the descent of his shot fell 
just upon us ; the queen was much startled .herewith, 
when I, coming nearer to her, demanded whether she 
had received any harm ; to which she answering no, and 
therewith taking two or three small pellets from her hair, 
it was thought ht to send a gardener to the king, to tell 
him that her majesty was there, and that he should 
shoot no more that way, which was no sooner heard 
among the nobles that attended him, but many of them 
leaving him came to the queen and ladies, among whom 
was Monsieur Le Grand,* who, finding the queen still 
discoursing with me, stole behind her, and, letting fall 
gently some comfits he had in his pocket upon the 
queen's hair, gave her occasion to apprehend that some 
shot had fallen on her again ; turning hereupon to 
Monsieur Le Grand, I said that I marvelled that so old 
a courtier as he was could find no means to entertain 
ladies but by making them afraid ', but the queen 
shortly after returning to her lodging, I took my leave 
of her and came home : all which passage I have 
thought fit to set down, the accident above-mentioned 
being so strange that it can hardly be paralleled. 

It fell out one day that the Prince of Conde coming 
to my house, some speech happened concerning the 

* Roger, Due de Bellegarde., Gi'and Escuyer. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 143 

king my master, in whom, though he acknowledged 
much leaniing, knowledge, clemency, and divers other 
virtues, yet he said he had heard that the king was 
much given to cursing ; I answered that it was out of 
his gentleness; but the prince demanding how cursing 
could be a gentleness, I rephed, yes, for though he 
could punish men himself, yet he left them to Grod to 
punish ; which defence of the king my master was 
afterwards much celebrated in the French court. 

Monsieur de Luynes,* continuing still the king's favor- 
ite, advised him to war against his subjects of the re- 
formed religion in France ; saying he would neither be 
a great prince as long as he suffered so puissant a party 
to remain within his dominions, nor could justly style 
himself the most Christian king, as long as he permitted 
such heretics to be in that great number they were, or 
to hcdd those strong places which by public edict were 
assigned to them, and therefore that he should extirpate 
them as the Spaniards had done the Moors, who are 
all banished into other countries, as we may find in 
their histories : this counsel, although approved by 
the young king, was yet disliked by other grave and 
wise persons about him, and particularly by the Chan- 
cellor Sillery and the President Jannin, who thought 
better to have a peace which had two religions, than a 
war that had none. Howbeit, the design of Luynes 
was applauded, not only by the Jesuit party in France 
but by some princes and other martial persons, inso- 
much that the Duke of Guise, f coming to see me one 
day, said that they should never be happy in France 
till those of the religion were rooted out ; I answered 
that I wondered to hear him say so ; and the duke de- 

* Charles Albert, Duke of Luynes. 

t Charles, son of Ileniy Duke of Guise, who was killed at Blois. 



144 THE LIFE OF 

manding why, I replied that whensoever those of the 
religion were put down, the turn of the great persons 
and governors of provinces of that kingdom would be 
next; and that though the present king were a good 
prince, yet that their successors may be otherwise, and 
that men did not know how soon princes might prove 
tyrants when they had nothing to fear ; Mdiich speech 
of mine was fatal, since those of the religion were no 
sooner reduced into that weak condition in which now 
they are, but the governors of provinces were brought 
lower, and curbed much in their power and authority, 
and the Duke of Guise first of them all ; so that I 
doubt not but my words were well remembered. How- 
soever, the war now went on with much fervor, neither 
could I dissuade it, though using, according to the in- 
structions I had from the king my master many argu- 
ments for that purpose. I was told often that if the 
reformation in France had been like that in England, 
where they observed we retained the hierarchy, together 
with decent rites and ceremonies in the church, as also 
holidays in the memory of saints, music in churches, 
and divers other testimonies, both of glorifying God 
and giving honor and reward to learning, they could 
much better have tolerated it ; but such a rash and vio- 
lent reformation as theirs was ought by no means to 
be approved ; whercunto I answered that though the 
causes of departing from the church of Eome were 
taught and delivered by many sober and modest per- 
sons, yet that the reformation in great part was acted 
by the common people, M^hereas ours began at the 
prince of state, and therefore was more moderate, 
which reason I found did not displease them ; I added 
farther, then, that the reformed religion in France 
would easily enough admit a hierarchy, if they had 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 145 

sufficient means among them to maintain it, and that if 
their churches were as fair as those which the Roman 
Catholics had, they would use the more decent sorts of 
rites and ceremonies, and together like well of organs 
and choirs of singers, rather than make a breach or 
schism on that occasion; as for holidays, I doubted 
not but the principal persons and ministers of their re- 
ligion would approve it much better than the common 
people, who, being laborers and artisans for the most 
part, had the advantages for many more days than the 
Roman Catholics for getting their living ; howsoever, 
that those of the religion had been good cautions to 
make the Roman Catholic priests, if not better, yet at 
least more wary in their lives and actions; it being 
evident that since the refonnation began among thoso 
of the religion, the Roman Catholics had divers ways 
reformed themselves, and abated not only much of 
the power they usurped over laics, but were more 
pious and continent than formerly. Lastly, that those 
of the religion acknowledged solely the king's author- 
ity in government of all affairs, whereas the other 
side held the regal power, not only inferior in divers 
points, but subordinate to the papal, nothing of which 
yet served to divert Monsieur de Luynes or the king 
from their resolutions. 

The king having now assembled an army, and made 
some progress against those of the religion, I had in- 
structions sent me from the king my master to medi- 
ate a peace, and if I could not prevail therein, to use 
some such words as may both argue his majesty's care 
of them of the religion, and together to let the French 
king know that he would not pennit their total ruin 
and extirpation. The king was now going to lay 
siege to St. Jean d'Angely, when myself was newly 



146 THE LIFE OF 

recovered of a fever at Paris, in which, hesides the help 
of many able physicians, I had the comfort of divers 
visits from many principal grandees of France, and 
particularly the Princess of Conti, who would sit hy my 
bedside two or three hours, and with cheerful discourse 
entertain me, though yet I was brought so low that I 
could scarce return anything by w^ay of answer but 
thanks. The command yet which I received from the 
king my master quickened me, insomuch that by slow 
degrees I went into my coach, together with my train, 
towards St. Jean d'Angely. Being arrived within a 
small distance of that place, I found by divers cir- 
cumstances that the effect of my negotiation had been 
discovered ft-om England, and that I was not welcome 
thither ; howbeit, having obtained an audience from 
the king, I exposed what I had in charge to say to 
him, to which yet I received no other answer but 
that I should go to Monsieur de Luynes, by whom 
I should know his majesty's intention. Repairing 
thus to him, I did find outwardly good reception, 
though yet I did not know how cunningly he pro- 
ceeded to betray and fi'ustrate my endeavors for those 
of the religion ; for hiding a gentleman called Mon- 
sieur Amaud behind the hangings in his chamber, who 
was then of the religion, but had promised to revolt 
to the king's side ; this gentleman, as he himself con- 
fessed afterwards to the Earl of Carlisle, had in charge 
to relate unto those of the religion how little help they 
might expect from me, when he should tell them the 
answers which Monsieur de Luynes made me. Sitting 
thus in a chair before Monsieur de Luynes, he demanded 
the effect of my business ; I answered that the king my 
master commanded me to mediate a peace betwixt his 
majesty and his subjects of the religion, and that I de- 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 147 

sired to do it in all those fair and equal terms wMch 
iniglit stand with the honor of France, and the good in- 
telligence betwixt the two kingdoms; to which he re- 
tmiied this rude answer only, ^' What hath the king your 
master to do with our actions ? Why doth he meddle 
with our affairs ? " My reply was, that the king my 
master ought not to give an account of the reason whicli 
induced him hereunto, and as for me, it was enough 
to obey him ; howbeit if he did ask me in more gentle 
terms, I should do the best I could to give hhn satis- 
faction. To which, though he answered no more 
than the w^ord '■' Bien," or " Well," I pursuing my in- 
struction said that the king my master, according 
to the mutual stipulation betwixt Henry the Fourth 
and himself, that the survivor of either of them should 
procure the tranquillity and peace of the other's estate, 
had sent this message ; and that he had not only 
testified this his pious inclination heretofore in the 
Lite civil wars of France, but was desirous on thi.3 
occasion also to show how much he stood affected t.) 
the good of the kingdom : besides, he hoped that 
-when peace was established here, the French king 
might be the more easily disposed to assist the 
Palatine, who was an ancient friend and ally of the 
French crown. His reply to this was, " We will 
have none of your advices." Whereupon I said 
that I took those words for answer, and was sorry 
only that they did not understand sufficiently the affec- 
tion and good will of the king my master ; and since 
they rejected it upon those terms I had in charge to 
tell him, that we knew very well what we had to do. 
Luynes, seeming offended herewith, said, "■ Nous ne vous 
craignons pas," or, ^' We are not afraid of you " ; I re- 
plied hereupon, that ^' if you had said you had not loved 



148 THE LIFE OF 

us, I should have heheved you, but should have returned 
you another answer " ; in the mean while that I had no 
more to say than what I told him formerly, which was 
that we knew what we had to do. This, though 
somewhat less than was in my instructions, so angered 
him that in much passion he said, ^' Par Dieu, si vous 
n'etiez monsieur Tamhassadeur, je vous traiterais d'un' 
autre sorte," — '^ By God, if you were not monsieur am- 
bassador, I would use you after another fashion." My 
answer M^as, that as I was an ambassador, so I was 
also a gentleman; and therewithal laying my hand 
upon the hilt of my sword, told him there was that 
which should make him an answer, and so arose from 
my chair; to which Monsieur de Luynes made no reply, 
but, arising hkewise from his chair, offered civilly to 
accompany me to the door; but I telling him there 
was no occasion for him to use ceremony after so rude 
an entertainment, I departed from him. From thence 
returning to my lodging, I spent three or four days 
afterwards in seeing the manner of the French disci- 
pline in making approaches to towns ; at what time I 
remember, that, going in my coach within reach of 
cannon, those in the town imagining me to be an 
enemy, made many shots against me, which so af- 
frighted my coachman that he durst drive no farther, 
whereupon, alighting, I bid him put the horses out of 
danger; and, notwithstanding many more shots v/ere 
made against me, went on to the trenches, where one 
Seaton, a Scotchman, conducting me, showed me their 
works, in which I found little differing from the Low 
Country manner. Having satisfied myself in this 
manner, I thought fit to take my leave of the - king, 
being at Cognac, the city of St. Jean d'Angely being 
now surrendered unto him ; coming thus to a village 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 149 

not far from Cognac, about ten of the clock at night, I 
found all the lodgings possessed by soldiers, so that, 
alighting in the market-place, I sent my servants to 
the inns to get some provision, who bringing me only 
six rye loaves, which I was doubtful whether I should 
bestow on myself and company or on my horses. 
Monsieur de Fonts, a French nobleman of the religion, 
attended with a brave train, hearing of my being there, 
offered me lodging in his castle near adjoining : I told 
him it was a great courtesy at that time, yet I could 
not with my honor accept it, since I knew it would en- 
danger him, my business to those parts being in favor of 
those of the religion, and the chief ministers of state in 
France being jealous of my holding intelligence with 
him ; howbeit, if he would procure me lodging in the 
t:>wn, I should take it kindly. Whereupon sending his 
servants round about the town, he found at last in the 
house of one of his tenants a chamber, to which when 
he had conducted me, and together gotten some little 
accommodation for myself and horses, I desired him to 
depart to his lodgings, he being then in a place which 
his enemies, the king's soldiers, had possessed : all 
which was not so silently carried but that the said 
nobleman was accused afterwards at the French court 
upon suspicion of holding correspondence M'ith me, 
whereof it was my fortune to clear him. 

Coming next day to Cognac, tlie Marshal de St. 
Geran, my noble friend, privately met me, and said I 
was not in a place of surety there, as having offended 
Monsieur de Luynes, who was the king's favorite, 
desiring me withal to advise what I had to do : I told 
him I was in a place of surety wheresoever I had my 
sword by my side, and that I intended to demand audi- 
ence of the king ; which also being obtained, I found 



150 THE LIFE OF 

not so cold a reception as I thought to meet with, in- 
somuch that I parted Mdth his majesty to all outward 
appearance in very good terms. 

From hence returning to Paris shortly after, I found 
myself welcome to all those ministers of state there and 
nohlemen, who either envied the greatness, or loved not 
the insolencies of Monsieur de Luynes ; by whom also 
I was told that the said Luynes had intended to send a 
brother of his into England with an embassy, the eifect 
whereof should be chiefly to complain against me, and 
to obtain that I should be repealed ; and that he in- 
tended to relate the passages betwixt us at St. Jean 
d'Angely in a much different manner from that I re- 
ported, and that he would charge me with giving the 
first ofience. After thanks for this advertisement, I 
told them my relation of the business betwixt us, in 
the manner I delivered, was true, and that I would 
justify it with my sword, at which they, being nothing 
scandalized, wished me good fortune. 

The ambassador into England following shortly 
after, with a huge train in a sumptuous manner, 
and an accusation framed against me, I was sent for 
home, of which I was glad, my payment being so 
ill that I was run far into debt with my merchants, 
who had assisted me now with three or four thousand 
pounds more than I was able at the present to discharge. 
Coming thus to court, the Duke of Buckingham, who 
was then my noble friend, informed me at large of 
the objections represented by the French ambassa- 
dor ; to which, when I had made my defence in the 
manner above related, I added that I was ready to 
make good all that I had said with my sword ; and 
shortly after I did, in the presence of his majesty and 
the Duke of Buckingham, humbly desire bave to send 



EDWARD LOED HERBERT. 151 

a trumpet to Monsieur de Luynes, to offer him the 
combat upon terms that passed betwixt us ; which was 
not permitted, otherwise than that they would take my 
offer into consideration. Howsoever^ notice being pub- 
licly taken of this my desire, much occasion of speech 
was given, every man that heard thereof much favoring 
me, but the Duke of Luynes's death following shortly 
after, the business betwixt us was ended, and I com- 
manded to return to my former charge in France. I 
did not yet presently go, as finding much difficulty to 
obtain the moneys due me from the exchequer, and 
therewith, as also by my own revenues, to satisfy my 
creditors in France. The Earl of Carlisle * this while 
being employed extraordinary ambassador to France, 
brought home a confirmation of the passages betwixt 
Monsieur de Luynes and myself; Monsieur de Arnaud, 
who stood behind the hangings, as above related, hav- 
ing verified all I said, insomuch that the king my mas- 
ter was well satisfied of my truth. 

Having by this time cleared all my debts, when de- 
manding new instructions from the king my master, 
the Earl of Carlisle brought me this message, that 
his majesty had that experience of my abilities and 
fi.lelity, that he would give me no instructions, but 
leave all things to my discretion, as knowing I would 
proceed with that circumspection as I should be better 
able to discern, upon emergent occasions, what was fit 
to be done, than that I should need to attend direc- 
tions from hence ', which, besides that they would be 
slow, might perchance be not so proper, or correspondent 
to the conjuncture of the great affairs then in agitation, 
both in France and Grermany, and other parts of Chris- 

* James Hay, Earl of Carlisle, Knight of the Garter, Master of the 
Great Wardrobe, and Ambassador in Germany and France. 



152 THE LIFE OF 

tendom, and that these things therefore must be left to 
my vigilance, prudence, and fidelity. Whereupon I 
told his lordship that I took this as a singular expres- 
sion of the trust his majesty reposed in me; howheit 
that I desired his lordship to pardon me, if I said I 
had herein only received a greater power and latitude 
to err ', and that I durst not trust my judgment so far 
as that I would presume to answer for all events in 
such factious and turbulent times, and therefore again 
did humbly desire new instructions, which I promised 
punctually to follow. The Earl of Carlisle, returning 
hereupon to the king, brought me yet no other answer 
back than that I formerly mentioned, and that his ma- 
jesty did so much confide in me that he would limit me 
with no other instructions, but refer all to my discretion, 
promising together, that if matters proceeded not as 
well as might be wished, he would attribute the default 
to anything rather than to my not performing my duty. 

Finding his majesty thus resolved, I humbly took 
leave of him, and my friends at court, and went to 
Monsieur Savage, when, demanding of him new letters 
of credit, his answer M^as, he could not furnish me 
as he had before, there being no limited sum expressed 
there, but that I should have as much as I needed ; 
to which, though I answered that I had paid all, yet 
as Monsieur Savage replied that I had not paid it at 
the time agreed on, he said he could furnish me with a 
letter only for three thousand pounds, and neverthe- 
less that he was confident I should have more if I re- 
quired it, which I found true, for I took up afterwards 
upon my credit there as much more, as made in the 
whole five or six thousand pounds. 

Coming thus to Paris, I found myself welcomed by 
all the principal persons, nobody that I found there 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 153 

being either offended with the passages betwixt me and 
Monsieur de Luynes, or that were sorry for his death, 
in which number the qaeen's majesty seemed the most 
eminent person, as one who long since had hated him ; 
whereupon, also, I cannot but remember this passage, 
that in an audience I had one day from the queen I 
demanded of her how far she would have assisted me 
with her good offices against Luynes. She replied, 
that what cause soever she might have to hate him, 
either by reason or by force, they would have made 
her to be of his side ; to which I answered in Spanish, 
'' No ay feurce por las Reynas," — '' There is no force 
fur queens " ; at which she smiled. 

And now I began to proceed in all public affairs- 
according to the liberty with . which my master was 
pleased to honor me, confining myself to no rules but 
those of my own discretion. My negotiations in the 
mean while proving so successful that, during the re- 
mainder of my stay there, his majesty received much 
satisfaction concerning my carriage, as finding I had 
preserved his honor and interest in all great affairs then 
emergent in France, Germany, and other parts of 
Christendom ; which work, being of great concernment, 
I found the easier, that his majesty's ambassadors and 
agents everywhere gave me perfect intelligence of all 
tiat happened within their precincts, insomuch that 
from Sir Henry Wotton, his majesty's ambassador at 
Venice, who was a learned and witty gentleman, I re- 
ceived all the news of Italy ; as also fi-om Sir Isaac 
Wake, who did more particularly acquaint me with the 
business of Savoy,* Valentina, and Switzerland ; from 
Sir Francis Nethersole, his majesty's agent in Ger- 
many, and more particularly with the united princes 

* Tlie Valteline. 



154 THE LIFE OF 

there, on the behalf of his son-in-law, the palatine or 
King of Bohemia, I received all the news of Germany ; 
from Sir Dudley Carlton, his majesty's ambassador in 
the Low Countries, I received intelligence concerning 
all the affairs of that state ; and from Mr. William 
Trumball, his majesty's agent at Brussels, all the 
affairs on that side : and lastly, from Sir Walter Aston, 
his majesty's ambassador in Spain, and after him from 
the Earl of Bristol and Lord Cottingt<jn, I had intelli- 
gence from the Spanish court ; out of all whose rela- 
tions, being compared together, I found matter enough 
to direct my judgment in all public proceedings ; 
besides, in Paris I had the chief intelhgence which 
came to either Monsieur de Langherac, the Low 
Country ambassador, or Monsieur Postek, agent for 
the united princes in Germany, and Signor Contarini, 
ambassador for Venice, and Signor Guiscardi, my 
particular friend, agent for Mantua, and Monsieur 
Gueretin, agent for the palatine or King of Bohemia, 
and Monsieur Villers, for the Suisse, and Monsieur 
Ainorant, agent for Geneva, by whose means, upon the 
resultance of the several advertisements given me, I 
found M^hat I had to do. 

The wars in Gennany were now hot, when several 
French gentlemen came to me for recommendations to 
the Queen of Bohemia, whose service they desired to 
advance, which also I performed as effectually as I 
could ; howbeit, as after the battle of Prague, the im- 
perial side seemed wholly to prevail, these gentlemen 
had not the satisfaction expected. About this time, the 
Duke de Crouy, employed from Brussels to the French 
court, coming to see me, said by way of rhodomon- 
tade, as though he would not speak of our isles, yet ho 
saw all the rest of the world must bow under the 



EDWARD LOED HERBERT. 155 

Spaniard; to wliicli I answered, ''God be thanked 
tliey are not yet come to that pass, or when they were, 
they have this yet to comfort them, that at worst they 
should be but the same which you are now " ; which 
speech of mine, being afterwards, I know not how, di- 
vulged, was much applauded by the French, as believ- 
ing I intended that other countries should be but under 
the same severe government to which the Duke of 
Crouy and those within the Spanisli dominions were 
subject. 

It happened, one day, that the agent from Brussels 
and ambassador from the Low Countries came to see 
me immediately one after the other, to whom I said 
famiharly, that I thought that the inhabitants of the 
parts of the seventeen provinces which were under the 
Spaniards might be compared to horses in a stable, 
which, as they were finely curried, dressed, and fed, so 
they were well ridden also, spurred and galled ; and 
that I thought the Low Country men were like to 
horses at grass, which, though they wanted so good 
keeping as the other had, yet might leap, kick, and 
fling, as much as tliey would : which freedom of mine 
displeased neither ; or if the Low Country ambassador 
did think I had spoken a little too sharply, I pleased 
him afterwards, when, continuing my discourse, I told 
him that the states of the united provinces had within 
a narrow room shut up so much warlike provision both 
by sea and land, and together demonstrated such cour- 
age upon all occasions, that it seemed they had more 
need of enemies than of friends, which compliment I 
found did please him. 

About this time, the French being jealous that the 
king my master would match the prince his son with 
the King of Spain's sioter, and together relinquish his 



156 THE LIFE OF 

alliance with France, myself, who did endeavor nothing 
more than to hold all good intelligence betwixt the two 
crowns, had enough to do. The Count de Gondomor, 
passing now" from Spain into England, came to see me 
at Paris, about ten of the clock in the morning, when, 
after some compliments, he told me that he was to go 
towards England the next morning, and that he de- 
sired my coach to accompany him out of town. I told 
him after a free and merry manner he should not have 
my coach, and that if he demanded it, it was not 
because he needed coaches, the pope's nuncio, the 
emperor's ambassador, the Duke of Bavaria's agent, 
and others having coaches enough to furnish him, but 
because he would put a jealousy betwixt me and the 
French, as it I inclined more to the Spanish side than 
to theirs. Gondomor then, looking merrily upon me, 
said, '^ I Mdll dine with you yet." I told him, by his 
good favor, he should not dine with me at that time, 
and that when I would entertain the ambassador of so 
great a king as his, it should not be upon my ordinary, 
but that I would make him a feast worthy of so great 
a person; howbeit, that he might see after what man- 
ner I lived, I desired some of my gentlemen to bring 
his gentlemen into the kitchen, where, after my usual 
manner, M^ere three spits full of meat, divers pots of 
boiled meat, and an oven with store of pies in it, and 
a dresser board covered with all manner of good fowl, 
and some tarts, pans with tarts in them, after the 
French manner ; after which, being conducted to an- 
other room, they were showed a dozen or sixteen dishes 
of sw^eetmeats, all which was but the ordinary allow- 
ance for my table. The Spaniards, returning now to 
Gondomor, told him what good cheer they found, not- 
withstanding which, I told Gondomor again that I 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 157 

desired to be excused, if I thought this dinner un- 
worthy of him, and that when occasion were, I should 
entertain him after a much better manner. Gondomor 
hereupon, coming near me, said he esteemed me much 
and that he meant only to put a trick upon me, which 
he found I had discovered, and that he thought that an 
Englishman had not known how to avoid handsomely 
a trick put upon him under show of civility ; and that 
I ever should find him my friend, and would do mo 
all the good offices he could in England, which also he 
really performed, as the Duke of Lenox and the Earl 
of Pembroke confirmed to me ; Gondomor saying to 
them, that I was a man fit for employment, and that 
he thought Englishmen, though otherwise able per- 
sons, knew not how to make a denial handsomely, 
which yet I had done. 

This Gondomor, being an able person, and dexter- 
ous in his negotiations, had so prevailed with King 
James, that his majesty resolved to pursue his treaty 
with Spain, and for that purpose to send his son, Prince 
Charles, in person to conclude the match ; when, after 
some debate whether he should go in a public or pri- 
vate manner, it was at last resolved that he, attended 
with the Marquis of Buckingham and Sir Francis Cot- 
tington, his secretary, and Endimion Porter, and Mr. 
Grimes, gentleman of the horse to the marquis, should 
pass in a disguised and private manner through France 
to Madrid; these five passing, though not without some 
difficulty, from Dover to Boulogne, where taking post 
horses they came to Paris, and lodged at an inn in 
Rue St. Jacques, where it was advised amongst them 
whether they should send for me to attend them. After 
some dispute it was concluded in the negative, since, 
as one there objected, if I came alone in the quality 



158 THE LIFE OF 

of a private person, I must go on foot tlirongh. the 
streets, and because I was a person generally known, 
might be followed by some one or other, who would 
discover whither my private visit tended, besides that 
those in the inn must needs take notice of my coming 
in that manner; on the other side, if I came publicly 
with my usual train, the gentlemen with me must needs 
take notice of the prince and Marquis of Buckingham, 
and consequently might divulge it, which was thought 
not to stand with the prince's safety, who endeavored 
to keep his journey as secret as possible; howbcit, 
the prince spent the day following his arrival in seeing 
the French court and city of Paris, without that any- 
body did know his person, but a maid that had sold 
linen heretofore in London, who, seeing him pass by, 
said, ''Certainly this is the Prince of Wales," but 
withal suffered him to hold his way, and presumed not 
to follow him. The next day after they took post 
horses and held their way towards Bayonne, a city fron- 
tier to Spain. 

The first notice that came to me was by one Andrews, 
a Scotchman, who, coming late the night preceding 
their departure, demanded whether I had seen the 
prince. When I demanding what prince, "for," said 
I, "the Prince of Conde is yet in Italy," he told mo 
the Prince of Wales, M^hich yet I could not believe 
easily, until with many oaths he affirmed the prince 
was in France, and that he had charge to follow hi3 
highness, desiring me in the mean while, on the part 
of the king my master, to serve his passage the best I 
could. This made me rise very early the next morn- 
ing, and go to Monsieur Puisieux, principal secretary 
of state, to demand present audience. Puisieux here- 
upon entreated me to stay an hour, since he was in bed. 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 159 

and had some earnest business to despatch for the king 
his master as soon as he was ready. I returned answer 
that I could not stay a minute, and that I desired I 
mi^ht come to his bedside : this made Puisieux rise 
and put on his gown only, and so came to the cham- 
ber, where I attended him. His first words to me were, 
" I know your business as well as you; your prince is 
departed this morning post to Spain " ; adding further, 
that I could demand nothing for the security of his 
passage but it should be presently granted, conclud- 
ing with these very words, " Vous serez servi au point 
nomme," or, ^' You shall be served in any particular you 
can name." I told hhn that his free offer had prevented 
the request I intended to make, and that, because he 
was so principal a minister of state, I doubted not but 
what he had so nobly promised he would see punctually 
performed; as for the security of his passage, that I 
did not see what I could demand more than that he 
would suffer him quietly to hold his way, without send- 
ing after or interrupting him. He replied that the 
prince should not be interrupted, though yet he could 
do no less than send to know what success the prince 
had in his journey. I was no sooner returned out of 
his chamber but I despatched a letter by post to the 
prince, to desire him to make all the haste he could out 
of France, and not to treat with any of the religion in 
the way, since his being at Paris was known, and that 
though the French secretary had promised he should 
not be interrupted, yet that they would send after his 
highness, and when he gave any occasion of suspicion 
might perchance detain him. The prince, after some 
examination at Bayonne (which the governor thereof 
did afterwards particularly relate to me, confessing that 
he did not know who the prince was), held his way on 



160 THE LIFE OF 

to Madrid, where lie and all his company safelj^ arrived. 
Many of the nobility and others of the English court, 
being now desirous to see the prince, did pass through 
France to Spain, taking my house still in their way, by 
whom I acquainted his highness in Spain how much 
it grieved me that I had not seen his highness when he 
was in Paris ; which occasioned his highness afterwards 
to write a letter to me, wholly with his own hand, and 
subscribe his name, ^^ Your friend Charles," in which 
he did abundantly satisfy all the unkindness I might 
conceive on this occasion. 

I shall not enter into a narration of the passages 
occumng in the Spanish court, upon his highness's 
arrival thither, though they were well known to me fur 
the most part, by the information the .French queen 
was pleased to give me, who, among other things, told 
me that her sister did wish well unto the prince. I had 
from her also intelligence of certain messages sent from 
Spain to the pope, and the pope's messages to them ; 
whereof, by her permission, I did afterwards inform his 
highness. Many judgments were now made concerning 
the event which this treaty of marriage was likely to 
have ; the Duke of Savoy said that the prince's journey 
thither was '■'■ un tiro di quell! cavalieri antichi che an- 
daA'^ano cosi per il mondo a disfare li incanti," — that it 
was ' ' a trick of those ancient knight errants, who went 
up and down the world after that manner to undo en- 
chantments " ; for, as that duke did believe that the 
Spaniard did intend finally to bestow her on the im- 
perial house, he conceived that he did only entertain 
the treaty with England, because he might avert the 
king my master from treating in any other place, and 
particularly in France ; howbeit, by the intelligence I 
received in Paris, which I am confident was very good, 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 161 

I am assured the Spaniard meant really at that time, 
though how the match was broken, I list not here to 
relate, it being a more perplexed and secret business 
than I am willing to insert into the narration of my 
life. 

New propositions being now made, and other coun- 
sels thereupon given, the prince, taking his leave of the 
Spanish court, came to St. Andrew's in Spain, where, 
shipping himself with his train, arrived safely at Ports- 
mouth about the beginning of October, 1623 ; the news 
whereof being shortly brought into France, the Duke 
of Guise came to me, and said he found the Spaniards 
were not so able men as he thought, since they had 
neither married the prince in their country, nor done 
anytliing to break his match elsewhere. I answered 
that the prince was more dexterous than that any secret 
practice of theirs could be put upon him ; and as for 
violence, I thought the Spaniard durst not offer it. 

The war against those of the religion continuing in 
France, Pere Segnerand, confessor to the king, made a 
sermon before his majesty upon the text, " That we 
should forgive our enemies " ; upon which argument, 
having said many good things, he at last distinguished 
forgiveness, and said we were indeed to forgive our 
enemies, but not the enemies of God, such as were 
heretics, and particularly those of the religion ; and 
that his majesty, as the most Christian king, ought to 
extirpate them wheresoever they could be found. This 
particular being related to me, I thought fit to go to 
the queen mother without farther ceremony, for she 
gave me leave to come to her chamber whensoever I 
would, without demanding audience, and to tell her 
that though I did not usually intermeddle with matters 
handled within their pulpits, yet because Pere Segne- 



162 THE LIFE OF 

rand, who had the charge of the king's conscience, 
had spoken so violently against those of the religion 
that his doctrine was not limited only to France, but 
might extend itself in its consequences beyond the seas, 
even to the dominions of the king my master, I could 
not but think it very unreasonable, and the rather, 
that, as her majesty well knew, a treaty of marriage 
betwixt our prince and the princess her daughter was 
now begun, for which reason I could do no less than 
humbly desire that such doctrines as these henceforth 
might be silenced, by some discreet admonition she 
might be pleased to give to Pere Segnerand, or others 
that might speak to this purpose. The queen, though 
she seemed very willingly to hear me, yet handled the 
business so that Pere Segnerand was together informed 
who had made this complaint against him, whereupon 
also he was so distempered, that by one Monsieur 
Gaellac, a Provencal, his own countryman, he sent me 
this message, that he knew well who had accused 
him to her majesty, and that he w^as sensible thereof; 
that he wished me to be assured that wheresoever I 
was in the world, he would hinder my fortune. The 
answer I returned by Monsieur Gaellac was, that 
nothing in all France but a friar or a woman durst 
have sent me such a message. 

Shortly after this, coming again to the queen mother, 
I told her that what I said concerning Pere Segnerand 
was spoken with a good intention, and that my words 
were now discovered to him in that manner that he 
sent me a very affronting message, adding after a merry 
fashion these words, that I thought Segnerand so ma- 
licious that his malice was beyond the malice of women. 
The queen, being a little started hereat, said, ''A moi 
femme et parler ainsi ? " — ' ' To me a woman and say so ? " 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 163 

I replied gently, '' Je parle a votre majeste comme 
reine et non pas comme femme," — ^^ I speak to your 
majesty as a queen and not as a woman/' and so took 
my leave of her. What Pere Segnerand did after- 
wards, in way of performing his threat, I know not ; 
but sure I am that, had I been ambitious of worldly 
greatness, I might have often remembered his words j 
though, as I ever loved my book and a private life 
more than any busy preferments, I did frustrate and 
render vain his greatest power to hurt me. 

My book '^ De Yeritate prout distinguitur a Revela- 
tione verisimili, possibili, et a iilso," having been 
begun by me in England, and formed there in all its 
principal parts, was about this time finished ; all the 
spare hours which I could get from my visits and ne- 
gotiations being employed to perfect this work, which 
was no sooner done but that I communicated it to 
Hugo Grotius, that great scholar, who, having escaped 
his prison in the Low Countries, came into France, and 
was much welcomed by me and Monsieur Tieleners* 
also, one of the greatest scholars of his time, who, 
after they had perused it, and given it more commenda- 
tions than is fit for me to repeat, exhorted me earnestly 
to print and publish it ; howbeit, as the frame of my 
whole book was so different from anything which had 
been written heretofore, I found I must either re- 
nounce the authority of all that had written for- 

* In the little book of Lord Herbert's verses, published after his death, 
is a copy addressed "To Tilenus after the fatal defluxion upon my arm." 
Daniel Tilenus was a theologic writer of that time. He wrote about 
Antichrist and animadversions on the Synod of Dort ; some of his works 
were published at Paris. He was, however, a Silesian, and his true name 
might be Tieleners, Latinized into Tilenus, according to the pedantry of 
that time ; as Groot was called Grotius, the similitude of whose studies 
might well connact him with Tieleners. 



164 " THE LIFE OF 

merly, concerning the method of finding out truth, and 
consequently insist upon my own way, or hazard my- 
self to a general censure, concerning the whole argu- 
ment of my hook ; I must confess it did not a little 
animate me that the two great persons ahove men- 
tioned did so highly value it, yet as I knew it would 
meet with much opposition, I did consider whether it 
was not hetter for me for a while to suppress it. Being 
thus douhtful in my chamber, one fair day in the sum- 
mer, my casement being opened towards the south, the 
sun shining clear and no wind stirring, I took my book 
" De Veritate" in my hand, and kneeling on my 
knees devoutly said these words : — 

" O thou eternal God, author of the light which now shines 
upon me, and giver of all inward illuminations, I do beseech 
thee of thy infinite goodness to pardon a greater request than a 
sinner ought to make : I am not satisfied enough whether I shall 
publish this book ' De Veritate ' ; if it be for thy glory, I be- 
seech thee give me some sign from heaven ; if not, 1 shall sup- 
press it." 

I had no sooner spoken these words, but a loud though 
yet gentle noise came from the heavens, for it was like 
nothing on earth, which did so comfort and cheer me 
that I took my petition as granted, and that I had the 
sign I demanded, whereupon also I resolved to print 
my book. This, how strange soever it may seem, I 
protest before the eternal God is true, neither am I any 
way superstitiously deceived herein, since I did not only 
clearly hear the noise, but in the serenest sky that ever 
I saw, being without all cloud, did to my thinking see 
the place from whence it came. 

And now I sent my book to be printed in Paris, at 
my own cost and charges, v,dthout suffering it to be 



EDWARD LORD HERBERT. 



165 



divulged to others than to such as I thought might be 
worthy readers of it ; though afterwards reprinting it 
in England, I not only dispersed it among the prime 
scholars of Europe, but was sent to, not only from the 
nearest, but farthest parts of Christendom, to desire 
the sight of my book, for which they promised any- 
thing I should desire by way of return, but hereof 
more amply in its place. 

The treaty of a match with France continuing still, 
it was thought fit for the concluding thereof that the 
Earl of Carlisle and the Earl of Holland should be sent 
extraordinary ambassadors to France. 

N. B. The notes to the foregoing narrative- are from the 
Eno;lish edition. 




LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 



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THOMAS ELLWOOD. 




HE author of the following autobiography 
has the doubtful glory of having suggested 
one of the most unread epics in the English 
language. He was some time a studentrof 
Latin with John Milton, ^' a gentleman of great note 
for learning, throughout the learned world, for the 
accurate pieces he has written on various subjects and 
occasions," of whose wise and subtile manner of teach- 
ing the language his student gives a curious account. 
Several years after the stormy events of the young 
Quaker's life had parted him from this learned gentle- 
man, they were again brought into each other's 
neighborhood, when Master Milton gave Ellwood, to 
read, a manuscript of his, — a certain poem which he 
had called '' Paradise Lost." 

'^ After I had, with the best attention, read it through, 
I made him another visit, and returned him his book, 
with due acknowledgment of the fiivor he had done 
me in communicating it to me. He asked me how I 
liked it, and what I thought of it, which I modestly 
but freely told him ; and after some further discourse 
about it, I pleasantly said to him, ' Thou hast said 



170 THOMAS ELLWOOD. 

much, here of Paradise Lost, but what hast thou to 
say of Paradise Found f ' He made me no answer, 
but sat some time in a muse ; then brake off that dis- 
course, and fell upon another subject. After the sick- 
ness was over, and the city well cleansed, and become 
safely habitable again, he returned thither. And 
when afterwards I w^ent to wait on him there, which I 
seldom failed of doing whenever my occasions drew 
me to London, he showed me his second poem, called 
' Paradise Regained,' and in a pleasant tone said to me, 
' This is owing to you, for you put it into my head by 
the question you put to me at Chalfont, which before 
I had not thought of.' " 

Those who bear honest Ellwood a grudge for the 
disservice he thus did literature and a great poet, will 
do -well to read his sketch of his own life, which they 
will find full of such entertaining matter, such right 
feeling, and such good sense, that they cannot help 
forgiving him. The writings of his sect are apt to 
have a certain unintentional dehght for the world's 
people ; Charles Lamb held John Woolman's Journal 
to be one of the most humorous books in our tongue, 
and Sewall's '' History of the People called Quakers " 
is far from being the serious work it appears, especially 
in its grave recital of the exploits and sufferings of 
early Quakers who broke pitchers and tore caps in 
pieces before magistrates as a sign of what fate 
awaited misrule, or who symbolized in their persons 
the spiritual nakedness of Christendom for a testimony 
against it ; nor is the '^ Life of Thomas Ellwood" an ex- 
ception to the general rule. There is something in- 
evitably amusing in many features of the martyrdom 
which he began to undergo at the hands of the sturdy 
Puritan magistrate, his father, when he put off 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 171 

laces, ribbons, and useless buttons from his garments, 
and corresponding fripperies from his speech and 
manner, and became a declared and zealous Quaker. 
The story of ^^ whirrets " upon the ear for his use of 
the plain language, and of hats snatched from his head, 
thrown away and utterly lost in his efforts to remain 
covered in his father's presence, is one which it were 
hard to read with a grave face ; and surely that account 
of the father's pausing from family prayer to fall in 
controversy upon the Quaker son with fist and caiie, 
belongs, however deplorable as an instance of human 
infirmity of temper, rather to the comic than the tragic 
side of the tale of religious persecutions. But let no 
one imagine a prevailing absurdity in Thomas Ell- 
wood's life ; he was a man whom every reader must 
heartily respect and honor. He was incorruptibly 
true and unimpeachably brave, and he suffered for his 
faith outrage and injustice with saintly patience and 
manly strength. Again and again he was seized and 
cast into prison without cause ; every ruffian and cow- 
ard felt free to insult the gallant youth who had once 
been so quick with his sword. If the reader will 
know how, without striking a blow, a man of courage 
may make knightly defence of a lady, let him turn to 
Ellwood's modest account of how he protected the 
beautiful Guli Pennington, afterwards the wife of 
William Penn, from the rudeness of some drunken 
troopers ; and if he will learn how a true man is 
always efficiently a man, let him compare the quiet 
fearlessness of Ellwood in moments of peril with the 
valor of Lord Herbert, which he will find duly cele- 
brated by his lordship in the first half of this book. 
The Quaker will suffer nothing by contrast with the 
cavalier. 



172 THOMAS ELLWOOD. 

It is the great merit of Quakerism that it divined the 
essential democracy of Christianity in an age when 
democracy was so unknoMTi in church or state as 
hardly to have a name, and asserted the equality of 
all human spirits. The principle which influenced 
George Fox to refuse hat-honor and remain covered 
in every presence, and to give the plain thee and thou 
to each person, no matter of what station, may not 
have been the revelation he thought it, hut it had the 
living truth in it, and it must yet rule the world. 
Quakerism had its own follies and excesses, hut it 
swept more nonsense out of the heads and hearts 
that received it than the rest of the world has yet 
begun to be rid of, or is like to be for some ages 
to come. A man put oS with his useless buttons all 
idle and foolish conventions, and recognized himself as 
the equal of other men ; he spoke the simple truth, 
and he worshipped honest labor by toiling at any trade 
without a sense of dishonor. Because M^e are so glib 
in declaring our belief in the dignity of labor, we fancy 
ourselves in advance of the Quakers of two hundred 
and fifty years ago ; but the democrats among us who 
would not think it sorrow and shame to be forced to 
work for their bread with their hands are far fewer 
than the sect who discovered Democratic Christianity. 
EUwood was by birth a gentleman, yet when he was 
in prison with many other Quakers, he w^as glad to 
learn the art of tailoring from one of his brother 
sectaries, and he labored diligently at it as long as he 
remained there ', '' spending those leisure hours with 
innocency and pleasure, which want of business would 
have made tedious." All impulses, good or bad, exhaust 
themselves, and Quakerism seems now in its last days, 
but those who love to believe that men shall some- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 173. 

time dwell in peace and unity, through a sense of their 
essential equality, cannot read the history of that 
belief without renewed courage. It will he well for 
them too if they can perceive that democracy only 
becomes vital when it is a religion as w^ell as a policy. 
The name of Ellwood has, aside from all this, some 
interest for Americans through his connection with the 
family of the lovely lady whom William Penn married, 
and with whom Ellwood himself was at one time re- 
puted to be in love. She was the daughter of a brave 
officer of the Commonwealth, and it was through her 
example and that of her mother and stepfather that 
Ellwood was first brought to a belief in Quakerism. 
He and '^ Mary Penington's fair daughter Guli " had 
been children together, and nothing can be prettier 
than his telling how, after the Peningtons' conver- 
sion, and while Ellwood was yet of the world, he found 
Guli in her garden with her maid gathering fiowers, 
and on attempting ^' to engage her in some discourse 
which might introduce conversation on the foot of their 
former acquaintance, .... a free, debonair, courtly sort 
of behavior, .... young as she was, the gravity of 
her look and behavior struck such an awe upon him," 
that though '' she treated him with a courteous mien" 
he fell silent, and asked pardon for his boldness. Their 
gentle and tender friendship seems only to have had the 
color of fraternal affection, but they remained much 
attached as long as she lived, her death happening not 
long after her husband's release from imprisonment 
under William and Mary. Mrs. Maria Webb's book, 
'' The Penns and Peningtons of the Seventeenth Cen- 
tury in their Domestic and Religious Life " (London, 
1867), presents many interesting notices of this ad- 
mirable lady, with several of her letters hitherto 



174 THOMAS ELLWOOD. 

unpublished, and the touching story, chiefly in Mrs. 
Penington's language, of the life and early death 
of Sir William Springett, Guli's father. The same 
excellent volume contains certain inedited verses of 
Ellwood, whose elegiac muse, so prompt to mourn 
the death of other friends, is strangely mute at that of 
Guli Penn. He had indeed addressed a poem to her 
husband in America, and he had embalmed the mem- 
ory of her father and mother in song which has at 
least aU the preservative qualities of extreme dryness ; 
and it is not impossible that some f jrgotten acrostic 
or eclogue or elegy sorrows for her loss. 

The Peningtons had great influence in turning Ell- 
wood to Quakerism, but it was Edward Burrough who 
brought him to a full and final conviction of the truth, 
and him the reader of this life wiU find duly lamented 
in an acrostic, in which a fervent heart and a devout 
mind, strugghng powerfully with a native tunelessness in 
the poet, cannot justly be said to achieve the victory. It 
must be owned indeed that the poetry of the worthy 
Ellwood is of a very tough and unwilling kind, as sev- 
eral pieces given in the course of his narrative will wit- 
ness : it is poetry which expresses the truth, and is so 
far to be reverenced. How to enjoy it is another matter, 
with which probably the poet, who liked it, did not con- 
cern himself. 

I have m some cases made free to spare the reader 
strains which the autobiographer had inserted in 
his story, but I have thought best to keep back no 
part of the elegy on Edward Burrough, for whose sake 
I hope the robuster reader will strive with it, for he was 
a man worthy of remembrance. He early became a 
preacher of great influence, and suffered much for his 
zeal, which spared neither high nor low. More than 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 175 

one letter he wrote to the Protector (whom the good 
Sewall always styles 0. Cromwell); warning hhn 
against his own waxing pride and vainglory (he 
made public protest against the ^^ idolatrous" celebra- 
tion of Cromwell's funeral ), and charging him to put a 
stop to the persecution of the Quakers. These he fol- 
lowed up with the like appeals to Richard Cromwell^ 
and to Charles II. in his turn. With the last his inter- 
cession had the most effect, and it is his glory to have so 
urged upon the king's attention the cruelties practised 
against the Quakers in Boston that at Burrough's in- 
stance Charles issued his mandamus ordering Grov- 
ernor Endicott to send his prisoners to England, and so 
ended that persecution. This good and brave man died 
in Newgate, where he had been thrown for preaching 
at a Quaker meeting, and where he lay sick (being 
hurt by a fall the soldiers had given him when they 
seized him), for eight months before his death. 

Burrough was much with the Peningtons, whose 
house indeed seems to have been the pretty constant 
refuge and resort of the Quaker preachers. Mrs. Pen- 
ington was the daughter as well as the widow of a 
baronet, she was a person of substance as well as 
quality, and hospitality was her custom and her instinct. 
In Mrs. Webb's book, the reader will find a most in- 
teresting account of the exercises of mind concerning 
religion through which she at last" found peace in Qua- 
kerism. Her second husband was a man of like seri- 
ousness of soul ; he was of a city family, his father. 
Alderman Penington, having been one of the Regicides 
treacherously arrested after the Restoration and im- 
prisoned in the Tower, where he died from sickness 
induced by hardship and privation. EUwood, being of 
the same Puritan stock, was probably the more readily 



176 THOMAS ELL WOOD. 

influenced by the example of these admirable people. 
Their friendship continued intimate through life, and 
when William Penn married Guli, EUwood's fraternal 
affection for her was equally bestowed upon her hus- 
band. To him he addressed some of the least unread- 
able of his verses, — verses indeed in which there is a 
faint lift and waft of genuine poetry. 

TO MY FRIEND IN AMERICA. 

I envy not nor grudge tlie sweet content 

I hope thou takest under thy shady tree. 
Where many an hour is innocently spent, 

From vexing cares, from noise, and tumult free, 
Where godly meetings are not riots made. 
Nor innocents by stratagems betrayed. 

But, for my own part, I expect not yet 

Such peaceful days, such quiet time to see ; 
My station in a troublous world is set. 
And daily trials still encompass me ; 

This is my comfort, that my God is near 
To give me courage, and my spirit cheer. 

The blustering winds blow hard, the foaming seas 

Raise their proud waves, the surging billows swell ; 
No human art this tempest can appease ; 

He 's only safe who with the Lord doth dwell, 
Though storms and violence should yet increase, 
In Him there is security and peace. 

EUwood's spiritual song is marked by a stout, un- 
fluent devotion, which now and then bends into a 
momentary grace ; his elegy upon the Excellently 
Learned John Milton (given from MS. by Mrs. Webb) 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 177 

is a terrible example of a thoroughly prosaic soul in 
the unnatural throes of verse. What he himself wrote 
of a controversial opponent hut too aptly characterizes 
his own achievements in poetry : — 

"So flat, so dull, so rough, so void of grace. 
Where symphony and cadence have no place ; 
So full oi. chasmes, stuck iN\ih.prosie pegs, 
Whereon his tired Muse might rest her legs, 
(Not having wings,) and take new^ breath, that then 
She might with much adoe hop on again." 

He was the author of ^^ Davideis/' the life of King 
David of Israel, an epic poem in five hooks, which he 
says he wrote not for publication, but for his own 
*' diversion" ; it has apparently not survived for that 
of the present generation, though a fourth edition 
of it was printed in 1792. He edited George Fox's 
Journals, but his chief prose work is the ^' Sacred 
History of the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New 
Testament, digested into due method with respect to 
order of time and place, with observations tending to 
illustrate some passages therein." This, according 
to Mrs. Webb, is full of his raciness and mother wit, 
is very pleasant reading; and reached a fourth edition 
in 1778. His other prose writings are nearly all on 
controversial subjects in defence of the doctrines of 
Friends, and have never been republished. The titles 
of some of them are characteristic of the age, and will 
sufficiently indicate their tenor : '^ The Foundation of 
Tythes Shaken " ; ^^ An Antidote against the Infection 
of W. Rogers' Book " ; '^ A Seasonable Dissuasive from 
Persecution " ; "A Fair Examination of a Foul Paper " ; 
" Rogero-Mastix, a Eod for W. R. " ; etc. 

Many of Ell wood's writings have not been printed; 



178 THOMAS ELLWOOD. 

but the fact that twenty-four works of all kinds — poems, 
pamplilets, and controversial treatises — were published 
and forgotten must be our comfort and stay in this 
partial deprivation. His autobiography has alone sur- 
vived to our time, and it will probably keep his memory 
alive as long as men love to read simple, sincere, and 
manly books. Its manner has for me a great charm, 
and from the clearness with which it min-ors the author 
and the profound religious movement in which he was 
so largely concerned, it must always be interesting to 
the student of history ; whoever loves a quaint force 
of style, and many delicate unconscious flavors of 
character, or values rare pictures of the intimate life 
of the past, must also enjoy it. No one wOl like it 
the less for the harmless vanity which occasionally 
appears in it. Ellwood came hardly by his religion 
and his learning, and so much as any man might, had 
a right to self-satisfaction in them. 

He lived thirty years after the period at which his me- 
moir ends, and he meant to have enlarged it Mdth an ac- 
count of his literary life and labors, but he died at last 
in 1713, without having found time for this work. His 
declining years were spent in retirement at Hunger 
Hill, near Amerdean, Buckinghamshire. He lies bur- 
ied with his wife, in the little graveyard of New Jor- 
dans, where the dust of the Penns and Peningtons 
reposes, — dear friends from whom death has not parted 
him. 

In the Society of Friends he had the station of an 
elder, while his wife was minister. It was not till 
after her death, four years before his own, that he began 
to write the following story of his good and brave 
career, busying himself also with his religious works 
as long as he was able. He had an asthmatic com- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 179 

plaint, but his last sickness was paralysis. All reports 
agree concerning the charity and daily beauty of his 
life. Joseph Wyeth, the Friend who edited his me- 
moirs, tells us that he was '^ a man of comely aspect, 
of a free and generous disposition, of a courteous and 
affable temper, and pleasant conversation"; and an- 
other testimony, of one who knew him well, declares 
that ''he was greatly respected by his neighbors, for 
his services amongst them ; his heart and doors were 
open to the poor; both sick and lame who wanted 
help had it freely ; often saying ' he mattered not what 
cost he was at to do good." 





THE LIFE 



OF 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 




LTHOTJGH my station, from not "being so 
eminent either in the church of Christ or in 
the world, as that of others who have moved 
in higher orhs, may not aiford such con- 
siderable remarks as theirs; yet, inasmuch as in the 
course of my travels through this vale of tears, I have 
passed through various, and some uncommon exercises, 
which the Lord hath been graciously pleased to sup- 
port me under, and conduct me through, I hold it a 
matter excusable at least, if not commendable, to give 
the world some little account of my life, that, in re- 
counting the many deliverances and preservations, 
which the Lord hath vouchsafed to work for me, both 
I, by a grateful acknowledgment thereof, and return 
thanksgivings unto Him therefore, may in some meas- 
ure set forth his abundant goodness to me ; and others, 
whose lot it may be to tread the same path, and fall 
into the same or like exercises, may be encouraged to 
persevere in the way of holiness, and, with full assur- 



182 THE LIFE OP 

ance of mind, to trust in the Lord, whatsoever trials 
may befall them. 

To begin therefore with mine own beginning, I was 
born in the year of our Lord 1639, about the begin- 
ning of the eighth month, so far as I have been able 
to inform myself; for the parish register, which re- 
lates to the time, not of birth, but of baptism, as they 
call it, is not to be relied on. 

The place of my birth was a little country town 
called Crowell, situated in the upper side of Oxford- 
shire, three miles eastward from Thame, the nearest 
market town. My father's name was Walter EUwood, 
and my mother's maiden name was Elizabeth Potman ; 
they were both well descended, but of declining fami- 
lies. So that what my father possessed, which was a 
pretty estate in lands, and more as I have heard in 
moneys, he received, as he had done his name Walter, 
from his grandfather Walter Gray, whose daughter 
and only child was his mother. 

In my very infancy, when I was but about two 
years old, I was carried to London. For the civil war 
between the king and parliament then breaking forth, 
my father, who favored the parliament side, though 
he took not arms, not holding himself safe at his 
country habitation, which lay too near some garrisons 
of the king's, betook himself to London, that city then 
holding for the parliament. There was I bred up, 
though not without much difficulty, the city air not 
agreeing with my tender constitution j and there I 
continued until Oxford was surrendered, and the war 
in appearance ended. 

In this time my parents contracted an acquaintance 
and intimate friendship with the Lady Springett, then 
the widow of Sir William Springett, who died in the 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 183 

parliament service, and afterwards the wife of Isaac 
Penington, eldest son of Alderman Penington of Lon- 
don. And this friendship devolving from the parents 
to the children, I became an early and particular play- 
fellow to her daughter Gulielma; being admitted as 
such to ride with her in her little coach, draAvn by her 
footmen about Lincoln's Inn Fields. I mention this in 
this place, because the continuation of that acquaint- 
ance and friendship having been an occasional means 
of my being afterwards brought to the knowledge of 
the blessed Truth, I shall have frequent cause, in the 
course of the following discourse, to make honorable 
mention of that family, to which I am under so many 
and great obligations. 

Soon after the surrender of Oxford, my father re- 
turned to his estate at Crowell; which by that time 
he might have need to look after, having spent, I sup- 
pose, the greatest part of the moneys which had been 
left him by his grandfather, in maintaining himself and 
his family at a high rate in London. 

My elder brother (for I had one brother and two sis- 
ters, all elder than myself) was, while we lived in 
London, boarded at a private school, in the house of 
one Francis Atkinson, at a place called Hadley, near 
Barnet, in Hertfordshire, where he had made some 
good proficiency in the Latin and French tongues. 
But after we had left the city, and were resettled in 
the country, he was taken from that private school, 
and sent to the free school at Thame, in Oxfordshire. 
Thither also was I sent, as soon as my tender age 
would permit ; for I was indeed but young when I 
went, and yet seemed younger than I was, by reason of 
my low and little stature. For it was held, for some 
years, a doubtful point whether I should not have 



184 THE LIFE OF 

proved a dwarf ; but after I was arrived to the fifteentli 
year of my age, or thereabouts, I began to shoot up, 
and gave not up growing till I had attained the mid- 
dle size and stature of men. 

At this school, which at that time was in good repu- 
tation, I profited apace, having then a natural propen- 
sity to learning ; so that at the first reading over of my 
lesson, I commonly made myself master of it : and yet, 
which is strange to think of, few boys in the school 
wore out more birch than I. For though I was never, 
that I remember, wliipped upon the score of not hav- 
ing my lesson ready, or of not saying it well, yet being 
a little busy boy, full of spirit, of a working head and 
active hand, I could not easily conform myself to the 
grave and sober rules, and, as I then thought severe 
orders of the school; but was often playing one waggish 
prank or other among my school-fellows, which sub- 
jected me to correction, so that I have come under the 
discipline of the rod twice in a forenoon; which yet 
brake no bones. 

Had I been continued at this school, and in due time 
preferred to a higher, I might in likelihood have been a 
scholar; for I was observed to have a genius apt to 
learn. But my father having, so soon as the republi- 
can government began to settle, accepted the office of 
a justice of the peace (which was no way beneficial, 
but merely honorary, and every way expensive), and 
put himself into a port and course of living agreeable 
thereunto ; and having also removed my brother fi^om 
Thame School to Merton College in Oxford, and en- 
tered him there in the highest and most chargeable 
condition of a fellow-commoner, he found it needful to 
retrench his expenses elsewhere, the hurt of which fell 
upon me. For he thereupon took me from school, to 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 185 

save tlie charge of maintaining me there ; which was 
somewhat Hke plucking green fruit from the tree, and 
laying it by before it was come to its due ripeness, 
which will thenceforth shrink and wither, and lose that 
little juice and relish which it began to have. 

Even so it fared Math me : for being taken home 
when I was but young, and before I was well settled 
in my studies (though I had made a good progress in 
the Latin tongue, and was entered on the Greek,) 
being left too much to myself, to ply or play with my 
books or without them, as I pleased, I soon shook 
hands with my books, by shaking my books out of my 
hands, and laying them, by degrees, quite aside ; and 
addicted myself to such youthful sports and pleasures 
as the place afforded, and my condition could reach 
nnto. By this means, in a little time, I began to lose 
that little learning I had acquired at school 5 and, by 
a continued disuse of my books, became at length so ut- 
terly a stranger to learning, that I could not have read, 
far less have understood, a sentence in Latin ; which 
I was so sensible of, that I warily avoided reading to 
others, even in an English book, lest, if I should meet 
with a Latin word, I should shame myself by mispro- 
nouncing it. 

Thus I went on, taking my smng in such vain 
courses as were accounted harmless recreations, enter- 
taining my companions and familiar acquaintance with 
pleasant discourses in our conversations, by the mere 
force of mother- wit and natural parts without the help 
of school cultivation 5 and was accounted good com- 
pany too. 

But I always sorted myself with persons of inge- 
nuity, temperance, and sobriety ; for I loathed scur- 
rilities in conversation, and had a natural aversion to 



186 THE LIFE OF 

immoderate drinking. So that, in the time of my 
greatest vanity, I was preserved from profaneness, and 
the grosser evils of the world; w^hich rendered me 
acceptable to persons of the hest note in that country 
then. I often waited on the Lord Wenman, at his 
house, Thame Park, about two miles from Crowell, 
where I lived ; to whose favor I held myself entitled 
in a twofold respect, both as my mother was nearly 
related to his lady, and as he had been pleased to bestow 
his name upon me, when he made large promises for 
me at the font. He was a person of great honor and 
virtue, and always gave me a kind reception at his 
table, how often soever I came. And I have cause 
to think I should have received from this lord some 
advantageous preferment in this world, as soon as he 
had found me capable of it (though betwixt him and 
my father there was not then so good an understanding 
as might have been wished), had I not been in a little 
time after called into the service of the best and high- 
est Lord ', and thereby lost the favor of all my friends, 
relations, and acquaintance of this world. To the 
account of which most happy exchange I hasten, and 
therefore willingly pass over many particulars of my 
youthful life. Yet one passage I am willing to men- 
tion, for the effect it had upon me afterwards, which 
was thus : — 

My father being then in the commission of the peace, 
and going to a petty sessions at Watlington, I waited 
on him thither. And when we came near the town, 
the coachman, seeing a nearer and easier way than the 
common road, through a cornfield, and that it was 
wide enough for the wheels to run without damaging 
the corn, turned down there; which being observed 
by a husbandman who was at plough not far off, he 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 187 

ran to us, and, stopping the coach, poured forth a 
mouthful of complaints, in none of the best language, 
for driving over the corn. My father mildly answered 
him, that if there was an offence committed, he must 
rather impute it to his servant than himself, since he 
neither directed him to drive that way nor knew which 
way he drove ; yet added that he was going to such 
an inn at the town, whither if he came he would make 
him full satisfaction for whatsoever damage he had 
sustained thereby. And so on we went, the man 
venting his discontent, as he went back, in angry 
accents. At the town, upon inquiry, we understood 
that it was a way often used, and without damage, 
being broad enough, but that it was not the common 
road, which yet lay not far from it, and was also good 
enough ; wherefore my father bid his man drive home 
that way. 

It was late in the evening when we returned, and 
very dark; and this quarrelsome man, who had 
troubled himself and us in the morning, having got- 
ten another lusty fellow like himself to assist him, 
waylaid us in the night, expecting we should return 
the same way we came ; but when they found we did 
not, but took the common way, they, angry that they 
were disappointed, and loath to lose their purpose 
(which was to put an abuse upon us), coasted over to 
us in the dark, and laying hold on the horses' bridles, 
stopped them from going on. My father, asking his 
man what the reason was that he went not on, was 
answered, that there were two men at the horses' 
heads, who held them back, and waiuld not suffer them 
to go forward. Whereupon my father, opening the 
boot, stepped out, and I followed close at his heels. 
Going up to the place where the men stood, he de- 



188 THE LIFE OF 

manded of them the reason of this assault. They said 
we were upon the corn. We knew by the ruts we 
were not on the corn, hut in the common way, and told 
them so ; hut they told us they were resolved they 
would not let us go on any farther, but would make us 
go back again. My father endeavored by gentle rea- 
soning to persuade them to forbear, and not run them- 
selves farther into the danger of the laAV, which they 
were run too far already : but they rather derided him 
for it. Seeing, therefore, fair means would not work 
upon them, he spoke more roughly to them, charging 
them to deliver their clubs (for each of them had a great 
club in his hand, somewhat like those which are called 
quarter- staves) ; they thereupon, laughing, told him 
they did not bring them thither for that end. There- 
upon my father, turning liis head to me, said, " Tom, 
disarm them." 

I stood ready at his elbow, waiting only for the word 
of command ', for being naturally of a bold spirit, full 
then of youthful heat, and that too heightened by the 
sense I had, not only of the abuse, but insolent behav- 
ior of those rude fellows, my blood began to boil, and 
my fingers itched, as the saying is, to be dealing Mdth 
them. Wherefore, stepping boldly forward to lay 
hold on the staff of him that was nearest to me, I said, 
'^ Sirrah, deliver your weapon." He thereupon raised 
his club, which was big enough to have knocked down 
an ox, intending, no doubt, to knock me down with it, 
as probably he would have done, had I not, in the 
twinkling of an eye, whipped out my rapier, and made 
a pass upon him. I could not have failed running him 
through up to the hilt, had he stood his ground, but the 
sudden and unexpected sight of my bright blade, glis- 
tering in the dark night, did so amaze and terrify the 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 189 

man, tliat, slipping aside, lie avoided my thrust ; and, 
letting his staff sink, betook himself to his heels for 
safety, which his companion, seeing, fled also. I fol- 
lowed the former as fast as I could, but timor addidit 
alas (fear gave him wings), and made him swiftly fly; 
so that, although I was accounted very nimble, yet the 
farther we ran the more ground he gained on me, so 
that I could not overtake him, which made me think 
he took shelter under some bush, which he knew where 
to find, though I did not. Meanwhile the coachman, 
who had sufficiently the outside of a man, excused him- 
self from intermeddling, under pretence that he durst 
not leave his horses, and so left me to shift for myself; 
and I was gone so far beyond my knowledge that I 
understood not which way I was to go, till by hallooing, 
and being hallooed to again, I was directed where to 
find my company. 

We had easy means to find out who these men were, 
the principal of them having been in the daytime at 
the inn, and both quarrelled with the coachman, and 
threatened to be even with him when he went back ; 
but since they came off no better in their attempt, my 
f.ither thought it better not to know them, than to 
oblige himself to a prosecution of them. 

At that time, and for a good while after, I had no 
regret upon my mind for what I had done and had 
designed to do in this case ; but went on in a sort of 
bravery, resolving to kill, if I could, any man that 
should make the like attempt, or put any affront upon 
us; and for that reason seldom went afterwards upon 
those public services without a loaded pistol in my 
pocket. But when it pleased the Lord, in his infinite 
goodness, to call me out of the spirit and ways of the 
world, and give me the knowledge of his saving 



190 THE LIFE OF 

Truth, whereby the actions of my fore-past life were 
set in order hefore me, a sort of horror seized on me, 
when I considered how near I had heen to the stain- 
ing of my hands with human blood. And whensoever 
afterwards I went that way, and indeed as often since 
as the matter has come into my remembrance, my soul 
has blessed the Lord for my deliverance ; and thanks- 
givings and praises have arisen in my heart (as now, 
at the relating of it, they do) to Him who preserved 
and withheld me from shedding man's blood. Which 
is the reason for which I have given this account of 
that action, that others may be warned by it. 

About this time my dear and honored mother, who 
was indeed a woman of singular worth and virtue, de- 
parted this life, having a little before heard of the death 
of her eldest son, who, falling under the displeasure of 
my father, for refusing to resign his interest in an estate 
which my father sold, and thereupon desiring that he 
might have leave to travel, in hopes that time and ab- 
sence might work a reconciliation, went into Ireland 
with a person powerful there in those times, by whose 
means he was quickly preferred to a place of trust and 
profit, but lived not long to enjoy it. 

I mentioned before, that during my father's abode 
in London, in the time of the civil wars, he contracted 
a friendship with the Lady Springett, then a widow, 
and afterwards married to Isaac Penington, Esq., to 
continue which, he sometimes visited them at their 
country lodgings, as at Datchet,and at Causham Lodge, 
near Reading. And having heard that they were come 
to live upon their own estate, at Chalfont, in Bucking- 
hamshire, about fifteen miles from Crowell, he went 
one day to visit them there, and to return at night, 
taking me with him. 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 191 

But very much surprised we were, when, heing come 
thither, we iirst heard, then found, they were become 
Qualvers ; a people we had no knowledge of, and a 
name we had, till then, scarcely heard of. So great a 
change, from a free, debonair, and courtly sort of be- 
havior, which we formerly had found them in, to so 
strict a gravity as they now received us with, did not 
a little amuse and disappoint our expectation of such 
a pleasant visit as we used to have, and had now 
promised ourselves. Nor could my father have any 
opportunity, by a private conference with them, to 
understand the ground or occasion of this change, there 
being some other strangers with them, related to Isaac 
Penington, who came that morning from London to 
visit them also. 

For my part, I sought, and at length found means, 
to east myself into the company of the daughter, whom 
I found gathering some flowers in the garden, attended 
by her maid, who was also a Quaker. But when I 
addressed myself to her, after my accustomed manner, 
with intention to engage her in some discourse, which 
might introduce conversation on the foot of our former 
acquaintance, though she treated me with a courteous 
mien, yet, as young as she was, the gravity of her look 
and behavior struck such an awe upon me, that I found 
myself not so much master of myself as to pursue any 
farther converse with her. Wherefore, asking pardon 
for my boldness in having intruded myself into her 
private walks, I withdrew, not without some disorder 
(as I thought at least) of mind. 

We stayed dinner, which was very handsome, and 
lacked nothing to recommend it to me but the want of 
mirth and pleasant discourse, which we could neither 
have with them, nor, by reason of them, with one 



192 THE LIFE OF 

another amongst ourselves ; the weightiness that was 
upon their spirits and countenances keeping down 
the lightness that would have been up in us. We 
stayed, notwithstanding, till the rest of the company- 
had taken leave of them, and then we also, doing 
the same, returned, not greatly satisfied with our 
journey, nor l^nowing what in particular to find fault 
with. 

Yet this good effect that visit had upon my father, 
who was then in the commission for the peace, that 
it disposed him to a more favorable opinion of and 
carriage towards those people when they came in his 
way, as not long after one of them did. For a young 
man who lived in Buckinghamshire, came on a first 
day to the church (so called) at a town called Chinner, 
a mile from Crowell, having, it seems, a pressure on 
his mind to say something to the minister of that par- 
ish. His being an acquaintance of mine drew me 
sometimes to hear him, as it did then. The young 
man stood in the aisle before the pulpit all the time of 
the sermon, not speaking a word till the sermon, and 
prayer after it, were ended, and then spake a few 
words to the priest, of which all that I could hear was, 
that '^ the prayer of the wicked is abomination to the 
Lord," and that ^' Grod heareth not sinners." Some- 
what more, I think, he did say, which I could not 
distinctly hear for the noise the people made; and 
more, probably, he would have said, had he not 
been interrupted by the officers, who took him into 
custody, and led him out in order to carry him before 
my father. 

When I understood that, I hastened home, that I 
might give my father a good account of the matter 
before they came. I told him the young man behaved 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 193 

himself quietly and peaceably ; spake not a word till 
the minister had quite done his service, and that M^hat 
he then spake was hut short, and was delivered without 
passion or ill language. This I knew would furnish 
my father with a fair ground whereon to discharge the 
man, if he would. And accordingly, when they came, and 
made a high complaint against the man, who said httle 
for himself, my father having examined the officers 
who brought him, what the words that he spake were 
(which they did not well agree in), and at what time 
he spake them (which they all agreed to be after the 
minister had done), and then, whether he gave the 
minister any reviling language, or endeavored to raise 
a tumult among the people (which they could not 
charge him with) ; not finding that he had broken the 
law, he counselled the young man to be careful that he 
did not make or occasion any public disturbances, and 
so dismissed him, which I was glad of. 

Some time after this, my father having gotten some 
further account of the people called Quakers, and be- 
ing desirous to be informed concerning their principles, 
made another visit to Isaac Penington and his wife, at 
their house called the Grange, in Peter's Chalfont, and 
took both my sisters and me with him. It was in the 
tenth month, in the year 1659, that we went thither, 
where we found a very kind reception, and tarried 
some days ; one day at least the longer, because, while 
we were there, a meeting was appointed at a place about 
a mile from thence, to which we were invited to go, and 
willingly went. It was held in a farmhouse called the 
Grove, which, having formerly been a gentleman's seat, 
had a very large hall ', and that was well filled. 

To this meeting came Edward Burrough, besides 
other preachers, as Thomas Curtis and James Naylor, 



194 THE LIFE OF 

but none spake there at that time but Edward Bur- 
rough. Next to whom, as it were under him, it was 
my lot to sit on a stool by the side of a long table on 
which he sat, and I drank in his words with desire ; 
for they not only answered my understanding, but 
warmed my heart with a certain heat, which I had not 
till then felt from the ministry of any man. 

When the meeting was ended, our friends took us 
home with them again ; and after supper, the evenings 
being long, the servants of the family, who were 
Quakers, were called in, and we all sat down in silence. 
But long we had not so sat, before Edward Burrough 
began to speak among us ; and although he spake not 
long, yet what he said did touch, as I suppose, my 
father's (religious) copyhold, as the phrase is. And 
he having been from his youth a professor, though not 
joined in what is called close commimion with any 
one sort, and valuing himself upon the knovrledge he 
esteemed himself to have, in the various notions of 
each profession, though the had now affair opportun- 
ity to display his knowledge, and thereupon began to 
make objections against what had been delivered. 

The subject of the discourse was, '' The universal 
free grace of Glod to all mankind." To this he 
opposed the Calvinistical tenet of particular and per- 
sonal predestination : in defence of which indefensible 
notion he found himself more at a loss than he ex- 
pected. Edward Burrough said not much to him 
upon it, though what he said was close and cogent. 
But James Naylor, interposing, handled the subject 
with so much perspicuity and clear demonstration that 
his reasoning seemed to be irresistible ; and so I sup- 
pose my father found it, which made him willing to 
drop the discourse. 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 195 

As for Edward Burrough, he was a brisk young 
man of a ready tongue, and miglit have been, for 
aught I then knew, a schohir, which made me the less 
to admire liis way of reasoning. But what dropped 
from James Naylor had the greater force upon me, 
because he loolied but like a plain, simple country- 
man, having the appearance of a husbandman or a 
shepherd. As my father was not able to maintain the 
argument on his side, so neither did they seem willing 
to drive it on to an extremity on their side. But, 
treating him in a soft and gentle manner, did, after a 
while, let fall the discourse j and then we withdrew to 
our respective chambers. 

The next morning we prepared to return home (that 
is, my father, my younger sister, and myself; for my 
elder sister was gone before by the stage-coach to 
London) ; and when, having taken leave of our friends, 
we went forth, they, with Edward Burrough, accom- 
panying us to the gate, he there directed his speech in 
a few words to each of us severally, according to the 
sense he had of our several conditions. And when we 
were gone off, and they gone in again, they asking 
him what he had^ thought of us, he answered them, as 
they afterwards told me, to this effect : " As for the 
old man, he is settled on his lees, and the young woman 
is light and airy ; but the young man is reached, and 
may do well if he does not lose it." And surely that 
which he said to me, or rather that spirit in which he 
spake it, took such fast hold on me, that I felt sadness 
and trouble come over me, though I did not distinctly 
understand what I was troubled for. I knew not 
what I ailed, but I know I ailed something more than 
ordinary ; and my heart was very heavy. I found it 
was not so with my father and sister ; for, as I rode 



196 THE LIFE OF 

after the coach, I could hear them talk pleasantly one 
to the other ; hut they could not discern how it was 
with me, because I, riding on horseback, kept much 
out of sight. 

By the time we got home it was night. And the 
next day, being the first day of the week, I went in 
the afternoon to hear the minister of Chinner; and 
this was the last time I ever went to hear any of that 
function. After tlie sermon I went with him to his 
house ; and in a freedom of discourse which, from a 
certain intimacy tliat was between us, I commonly 
used with him, told him where I had been, what com- 
pany I had met with there, and what observations I 
had made to myself thereupon. He seemed to under- 
stand as little of them as I had done before, and civilly 
abstained from casting any unhandsome reflections on 
them. 

I had a desire to go to another meeting of the 
Quakers ; and bid my father's man inqtflre if thei'e 
was any in the country thereabouts. He thereupon 
told me he had heard at Isaac Penington's, that there 
was to be a meeting at High Wycombe on Thursday 
next. Thither therefore I went, though it was seven 
miles from me. And that I might be rather thought 
to go out a coursing tlian to a meeting, I let my grey- 
hound run by my horse's side. 

When I came there, and had set up my horse at an 
inn, I was at a loss how to find the house where the 
meeting was to be. I knew it not, and was ashamed 
to ask after it. Wlierefore, having ordered the ostler to 
take care of my dog, I went into the street, and stood 
at the inn gate, musing with myself what course to 
take. But I had not stood long ere I saw a horseman 
riding along the street, whom I remembered I had 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 107 

seen before at Isaac Penington's, and he put up his 
horse at the same inn. Him therefore I resolved to 
follow, supposing he was going to the meeting, as in- 
deed he was. 

Being come to the house, which proved to be John 
Raunce's, I saw the people sitting together in an outer 
room J wherefore I stepped in and sat down on the first 
void seat, the end of a bench just witbin the door, hav- 
ing my sword by my side, and black clothes on, which 
drew some eyes upon me. It was not long ere one 
stood up and spake, whom I was afterwards well ac- 
quainted with ; his name was Samuel Thornton ; and 
what he spake was very suitable, and of good service 
to me, for it reached home as if it had been directed to 
me. As soon as ever the meeting was ended, and the 
people began to rise, I, being next the door, stepped 
out quickly, and, hastening to my inn, took horse 
immediately homewards; and, so far as I remember, 
my having been gone was not tal^en notice of by my 
father. 

This latter meeting was like clinching of a nail, 
confirming and fastening in my mind those good prin- 
ciples which had sunk into me at the former. My 
understanding began to open, and I felt some stirrings 
in my breast, tending to the work of a new creation in 
me. The general trouble and confusion of mind, which 
had for some days lain heavy upon me, and pressed 
me down, without a distinct discovery of the particular 
cause for which it came, began now to wear off", and 
some gUmmerings of light began to break forth in me, 
which let me see my inward state and condition towards 
God. The light, which before had shone in my dark- 
ness, and the darkness could not comprehend it, began 
now to shine out of darkness, and in some measure 



198 THE LIFE OF 

discovered to me what it was that had before clouded 
me, and brought that sadness to and trouble upon me. 
And now I saw that, although I had been, in a great 
degree, preserved from the common immoralities and 
gross pollutions t)f the world, yet the spirit of tlie world 
had hitherto ruled in me, and led me into pride, flat- 
tery, vanity, and superfluity, all which was naught. 
I found tliere were many plants growing in me whicli 
were not of the Heavenly Father's planting, and that 
all these, of whatever sort or kind they were, or how 
sjDccious soever they might appear, must be plucked up. 

Now was all my former life ripped up, and my sins, 
by degrees, were set in order before me. And though 
they looked not with so black a hue and so deep a dye 
as those of the lewdest sort of people did, yet I found 
that all sin, even that which had the fairest and finest 
show, as well as that which was more coarse and foul, 
brought guilt, and M'ith and f^r guilt, condemnation on 
the soul that sinned. This I felt, and was greatly 
bowed down under the sense thereof. Now also did I 
receive a new law, an inward law superadded to the 
outward; the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus, 
which wrought in me against all evil, not only in deed 
and in word, but even in thought also ; so that every- 
thing was brought to judgment, and judgment passed 
upon all. So that I could not any longer go on in my 
former ways and course of life ; for when I did, judg- 
ment took hold upon me for it. 

Thus the Lord was graciously pleased to deal with 
me, in somewhat like manner as he had dealt with 
his people Israel of old, when they had transgressed 
his righteous law ; whom by his prophet he called 
back, required to put away the evil of their doings; 
bidding them first cease to do evil, then learn to do 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 199 

well, before he would admit them to reason with him, 
and before he would impart to them the effects of his 
free mercy. (Isaiah i. 16, 17.) 

I was now required by this inward and spiritual law, 
the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus, to put 
away the evil of my doings, and to cease to do evil. 
And what, in particnilars, the evil was M^hich I was 
required to put away, and to cease from, that measure 
of the divine light which was now manifested in me 
discovered to me ; and what the light made manifest to 
be evil, judgment passed upon. 

So that here began to be a way cast up bef(.ro me 
for me to walk in, — a direct and plain way ; so plain, 
that a wayfaring man, how weak and simple soever, 
though a fool to the wisdom and in the judgment of 
the world, could not err while he continued to walk in 
it ; the error coming in by his going out of it. And 
this way, with respect to me, I saw was that measure of 
divine light which was manifested in me, by which the 
evil of my doings, which I was to put away and to 
cease from, was discovered to me. 

By this divine light then I saw, that though I had 
not the evil of the common uncleanness, debauchery, 
profaneness, and pollutions of the world to put away, 
because I had, through the great goodness of God, 
and a civil education, been preserved out of those 
grosser evils ; yet I had many other evils to put away, 
and to cease from ; some of which were not by the 
M^orld (which lies in wickedness, — 1 John v. 19) 
accounted evils, but by the light of Christ were made 
manifest to me to be evils, and as suck condemned in 
me. 

As, particularly, those fruits and effects of pride 
that discover themselves in the vanity and superfluity 



200 THE LIFE OF 

of apparel ; wliicli I, as far as my ability would ex- 
tend to, took, alas ! too much delight in. This evil of 
my doings I was required to put away and cease from ; 
and judgment lay iipon me till I did so. Wherefore, 
in obedience to the inward law, which agreed with the 
outward (1 Tim. ii. 9 ; 1 Pet. iii. 3; 1 Tim. vi. 8; 
Jam. i. 21), I took off from my apparel those unneces- 
sary trimmings of lace, ribbons, and useless buttons, 
which had no real service, but were set on only for 
that which was by mistake called ornament; and I 
ceased to wear rings. 

Again, the giving of flattering titles to men, be- 
between whom and me there was not any relation to 
which such titles could be pretended to belong : this 
was an evil I had been much addicted to, and was 
accounted a ready artist in; therefore, this evil also 
was I required to put away and cease from. So that 
thenceforward I durst not say, ^'sir," '^ master," ^'my 
lord," ^' madam" (or ''my dame"), or say, ''your ser- 
vant," to any one to whom I did not stand in the real 
relation of a servant, which I had never done to any. 

Again, respect of persons, in uncovering the head, 
and bowing the knee or body in salutations, was a 
practice I had been much in the use of. And this 
being one of the vain customs of the world, intro- 
duced by the spirit of the w^orld, instead of the true 
honor, which this is a false representation of, and used 
in deceit, as a token of respect, by persons one to an- 
other; who bear no real resjDect one to another; and, 
besides, this being a type and proper emblem of that 
divine honor which all ought to pay to Almighty God, 
and which all, of all sorts, who take upon them the 
Christian name, appear in when they oifer their prayers 
to him, and therefore should not be given to men : 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 201 

I found this to be one of those evils which I had heen 
too long doing ; therefore I was now required to put 
it away, and cease from it. 

Again, the corrupt and unsound form of speaking 
in the plural number to a single person, you to one, 
instead of tliou; contrary to the pure, plain, and single 
language of truth, thou to one, and you to more than 
one ; which had always been used by Grod to men, and 
men to God, as well as one to another, from the oldest 
record of time, till corrupt men, for corrupt ends, in 
later and corrupt times, to flatter, fawn, and work 
upon the corrupt nature in men, brought in that false 
and senseless way of speaking you to one ; which hath 
since corrupted the modern languages, and hath greatly 
debased the spirits, and depraved the manners of men : 
this evil custom I had been as forward in as others, 
and this I was now called out of, and required to cease 
from. 

These, and many more evil customs, which had 
sprung up in the night of darkness, and general apos- 
tasy from the truth, and true religion, were now, by 
the inshining of this pure ray of divine light in my 
conscience, gradually discovered to me to be what I 
ought to cease from, shun, and stand a witness 
against. 

But so subtilely, and withal so powerfully, did the 
enemy work upon the weak part in me, as to persuade 
me that in these things I ought to make a difference 
between my father and all other men ; and that^ there- 
fore, though I did disuse these tokens of respect to 
others, yet I ought still to use them towards him, as 
he was my father. And so far did this wile of his 
prevail upon me, through a fear lest I should do amiss 
in withdrawing any sort of respect or honor from my 



202 THE LIFE OF 

father, wliicli was due unto liim, that, being thereby 
beguiled, I continued for a while to bemean myself in 
the same manner towards him, with respect both to 
language and gesture, as I had always done before. 
And as long as I did so, standing bare before him, and 
giving him the accustomed language, he did not ex- 
press, whatever he thought, any dislike of me. 

But as to myself, and the work begun in me, I found 
it was not enough for me to cease to do evil ; though 
that was a good and a great step. I had another les- 
son before me, which was, to learn to do well ; which 
I could by no means do, till I had given up, with fiill 
purpose of mind, to cease from doing evil. And when 
I had done that, the enemy took advantage of my weak- 
ness to mislead me again. 

For, whereas I ought to have waited in the light, for 
direction and guidance into, and in the way of well- 
doing, and not to have moved without the divine sj)irit, 
a manifestation of which the Lord has been pleased to 
give unto me, for me to profit with or by, the enemy, 
transf(jrming himself into the appearance of an angel 
of light, offered himself in that appearance to be my 
guide and leader into the performance of religious exer- 
cises. And I, not then knowing the wiles of Satan, 
and being eager to be doing some acceptable service to 
Grod, too readily yielded myself to the conduct of my 
enemy instead of my friend. He thereupon, humoring 
the warmth and zeal of my spirit, put me upon relig- 
ious performances in my own will, in my own time, and 
in my own strength ; which in themselves were good, 
and would have been profitable unto me, and accept- 
able unto the Lord, if they had been performed in his 
will, in his time, and in the ability which he gives. 
But being vn-ought in the will of man, and at the 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. • 203 

prompting of the evil one, no wonder that it did me 
hurt instead of good. 

I read abundantly in the Bible, and would set myself 
tasks in reading ; enjoining myself to read so many 
chapters, sometimes a whole book or long epistle at 
a time. And I thought that time well spent ; though 
I was not much the wiser for what I had read, reading 
it too cursorily, and without the true guide, the Holy 
Spirit, which alone could open the understanding, and 
give the true sense of what was read. I prayed often, 
and drew out my prayers to a great length ; and ap- 
pointed unto myself certain set times to pray at, and a 
certain number of prayers to say in a day ; yet knew 
not, meanwhile, what true prayer was, which stands 
not in words, though the words which are uttered in 
the movings of the Holy Spirit are very available ; but 
in the breathing of the soul to the Heavenly Father, 
through the operation of the Holy Spirit, who maketh 
intercession sometimes in words, and sometimes with 
sighs and groans only, which the Lord vouchsafes to 
hear and answer. 

This will- worship, which all is that is performed in 
the will of man, and not in the movings of the Holy 
Spirit, was a great hurt to me, and hindrance of my 
spiritual growth in the way of truth. But my Heavenly 
-Father, who knew the sincerity of my soul to him, and 
the hearty desire I had to serve him, had compassion 
on me ', and in due time was graciously pleased to 
illuminate my understanding farther, and to open in me 
an eye to discern the false spirit, and its way of work- 
ing, from the true ; and to reject the former, and cleave 
to the latter. 

But though the enemy had by his subtilty gained 
such advantages over me, yet I went on notwithstand- 



204 ' THE LIFE OF 

ing, and firmly persistod in my godly resolution of 
ceasing from and denying those things which I was 
now convinced in my conscience were evil. And on 
this account a great trial came quicldy on me. For 
the general quarter sessions for the peace coining on, 
my father, willing to excuse himself from a dirty jour- 
ney, commanded me to get up hetimes, and go to Ox- 
ford, and deliver in the recognizances he had taken ; 
and bring him an account what justices were on the 
bench, and what principal pleas were before them ; 
which he knew I knew how to do, having often attended 
him on those services. 

I, who knew how it stood with me better than he 
did, felt a weight come over me as soon as he had 
spoken the word. For I presently saw it would bring 
a very great exercise upon me. But having never 
resisted his will in anything that was lawful, as this 
was, I attempted not to make any excuse, but, ordering 
a horse to be ready for me early in the morning, I went 
to bed, having great strugglings in my breast. For 
the enemy came in upon me like a flood, and set many 
difficulties before me, swelling them up to the highest 
pitch, by representing them as mountains which I 
should never be able to get over ; and, alas ! that faith 
Avhich could remove mountains, and cast them into the 
sea, was but very small and weak in me. He cast into 
my mind not only how I should behave myself in court, 
and despatch the business I was sent about, but how I 
should demean myself towards my acquaintance, of 
which I had many in that city, with whom I was wont 
to be jolly ; whereas now I could not put off my hat, 
nor bow to any of them, nor give them their honorary 
titles, as they are called, nor use the corrupt language 
of yoti to any one of them, but must keep to the plain 
and true language of thou and thee. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 205 

Much of this nature revolved in my mind, thrown 
in by the enemy to discourage and cast me down ; and 
I liad none to have recourse to for counsel or help, hut 
to the Lord alone. To him therefore I poured forth 
my supplications with earnest cries and breathings of 
soul, that he, in whom all power was, would enable 
me to go through this great exercise, and keep me 
faithful to himself therein. And after some time he 
was pleased to compose my mind to stillness, and I 
went to rest. 

Early next morning I got up, and found my spirit 
pretty calm and quiet, yet not without a fear upon me, 
lest I should slip and let fall the testimony which I had 
to bear. And as I rode, a frequent cry ran through 
me to the Lord, on this wise : '^ my God, preserve 
me faithful, whatever befalls me ! Suifer me not to be 
drawn into evil, how much scorn and contempt soever 
may be cast upon me ! " 

Thus was my spirit exercised on the way almost 
continually. And when I was come within a mile or 
two of the city, whom should I meet upon the way 
coming from thence but Edward Burrough ! I rode 
in a mountier cap (a dress more used then than now), 
and so did he ; and because the weather was exceeding 
sharp, we both had drawn our caps down to shelter 
our faces from the cold ; and by that means neither of 
us knew the other, but passed by without taking notice 
one of the other ; till a few days after meeting again, 
and observing each other's dress, we recollected where 
we had so lately met. Then thought I with myself, 
oh ! how glad should I have been of a word of en- 
couragement and counsel from him, when I was under 
that weighty exercise of mind ! But the Lord saw it 
was not good for me, that my reliance might be wholly 
upon him, and not on man. 



206 THE LIFE OF 

When I had set up my horse, I went directly to the 
hall where the sessions Avere held, where I had heen 
hut a very little while before a knot of my old acquaint- 
ance, espying me, came to me. One of these was a 
scholar in liis goMm, another a surgeon of that city, 
both my school-fellows and fellow-hoarders at Thaine 
School, and the third a country gentleman, with whom 
I had long heen very familiar. 

When they were come up to me, they all saluted me 
after the usual manner, putting off their hats, and 
bowing, and saying, ''Your humble servant, sir"; ex- 
pecting, no doubt, the like from me. But when they 
saw me stand still, not moving my cap, nor bowing 
my knee in any way of conge to them, they were 
amazed, and looked first one upon another, then upon 
me, and then one upon another again for a while, 
without a word speaking. At length the surgeon, a 
brisk young man, M^ho stood nearest to me, clapping 
his hand in a familiar way upon my shoulder, and 
smiling on me, said, ''What, Tom, a Quaker f" to 
which I readily and cheerfully answered, "Yes, a 
Quaker." And as the words passed out of my mouth, 
I felt joy spring in my heart, for I rejoiced that I had 
not been drawn out by them into a compliance with 
them ; and that I had strength and boldness given me 
to confess myself to be one of that despised people. 

They stayed not long with me, nor said any more, 
that I remember, to me ; but looking somewhat con- 
fusedly one upon another, after a while took their leave 
of me, going off in the same ceremonious manner as 
they came on. After they were gone, I walked awhile 
about the hall, and went up nearer to the court, to ob- 
serve both what justices were on the bench and what 
business they had before them. And I went in fear, 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 207 

not of what they could or would have done to me, if 
they should have taken notice of me, but lest I should 
be surprised, and drawn unwarily into that which I 
was to Iteep out of. 

It was not long before the court adjourned to go to 
dinner, and that time I took to go to the clerk of the 
peace at his house, whom I was well acquainted with. 
So soon as I came into the room where he was, he 
came and met me, and saluted me after his manner ; 
for he had a great respect for my father, and a kind 
regard for me. And though he was at first somewhat 
startled at my carriage and language, yet he treated me 
very civilly, without any reflection or show of lightness. 
I delivered him the recognizances which my father had 
sent, and having done the business I came upon, with- 
drew, and went to my inn to refresh myself, and then 
to return home. But when 1 was ready to take horse, 
looking out into the street, I saw two or three justices 
standing just in the way where I was to ride. This 
brought a fresh concern upon me. I knew if they saw 
me, they would know me ; and I concluded, if they 
knew me, they would stop me to inquire after my 
father; and I doubted how I should come off with 
them. 

This doubting brought weakness on me, and that 
weakness led to contrivance how I might avoid this 
trial. I knew the city pretty well, and remembered 
there was a back way, which, though somewhat about, 
would bring me out of town, without passing by those 
justices ; yet loath I was to go that way. Wherefore I 
stayed a pretty time, in hopes they would have parted 
company, or removed to some other place out of my 
way. But when I had waited till I was uneasy for 
losing so much time, having entered into reasonings 



208 THE LIFE OF 

with flesh and Llood, the weakness prevailed over me, 
and away I went the hack way, which hrought trouhle 
and grief uj)on my spirits for having shunned the cross. 

But the Lord looked on me with a tender eye, and, 
seeing my heart was right to him, and that what I had 
done was merely through weakness and fear of falling, 
and that I was sensihle of my faihng therein, and 
sorry for it, he was graciously pleased to pass it by, 
and speak peace to me again. So that before I g(jt 
home, as when I went in the morning, my heart was 
full of breathing prayer to the Lord that he would 
vouchsafe to be with me and uphold and carry me 
through that day's exercise j so now, at my return in 
the evening, my heart was full of thankful acknowl- 
edgments and praises unto him for his great goodness 
and favor to me, in having thus far preserved and kept 
me from falling into anything that might have brought 
dishonor to his holy name, which I had now taken on 
me. 

But, notwithstanding that it was thus with me, and 
that I found peace and acceptance with the Lord in 
some good degree, according to my obedience to the 
convictions I had received by his Holy Spirit in me ; 
yet was not the veil so done away, or fully rent, but 
that there still remained a cloud upon my understand- 
ing with respect to my carriage towards my father. 
And that notion which the enemy had brought into 
my mind, that I ought to put such a difference be- 
tween him and all others, as that on the account of 
paternal relation, I should still deport myself towards 
him, both in gesture and language, as I had always' 
heretofore done, did yet prevail with me. So that when 
I came home, I went to my father bareheaded, as I 
used to do, and gave him a particular account of the 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 209 

business he had given me in command^ in such man- 
ner that he, observing no alteration in my carriage 
towards him, found no cause to take offence at me. 

I had felt for some time before an earnest desire of 
mind to go again to Isaac Penington's. And I began 
to question whether, when my father should come (as 
I concluded erelong he would) to understand I inclined 
to settle among the people called Quakers, he would 
permit me the command of his liorses as before. 
Wherefore, in the morning, when I went to Oxford, I 
gave direction to a servant of his to go that day to a 
gentleman of my acquaintance, who I knew had a rid- 
ing nag to put off, either by sale or to be kept for his 
work, and desired him, in my name, to send him to 
me, which he did, and I found him in the stable when 
I came home. 

On this nag I designed to ride next day to Isaac 
Penington's, and in order thereunto arose betimes and 
got myself ready for the journey ', but because I would 
pay all due respects to my father, and not go without 
his consent, or knowledge at the least, I sent one up to 
him (for he was not yet stirring) to acquaint him that 
I had a puqDose to go to Isaac Penington's, and de- 
sired to know if he pleased to command me any service 
to them. He sent nie word he would speak with me 
before I went, and would have me come up to him, 
which I did, and stood by his bedside. Then, in a mild 
and gentle tone, he said, ^^ I understand you have a mind 
to go to Mr. Penington's." I answered, ^^I have so." 
''Why," said he, "I wonder why you should. You 
were there, you know, but a few days ago ; and un- 
less you had business with them, don't you think it 
will look oddly?" I said, "I thought not." ''I 
doubt," said he, ^'you '11 tire them with your com- 



210 THE LIFE OF 

pany, and make them think they shall be troubled with 
you." ^' If/' rephed I/^ find anything of that, I 'H 
make the shorter stay." ''But," said he, "can you 
propose any sort of business with them, more than a 
mere visit!" ''Yes," said I, " I propose to myself 
not only to see them, but to have some discourse with 
them." " Why," said he, in a tone a little harsher, 
" I hope you don't incline to be of their M^ay." 
" Truly," answered I, " I like them and their way 
very well, so far as I yet understand it ; and I am will- 
ing to go to them that I may understand it better." 

Thereupon he began to reckon up a bead-roll of 
faults against the Quakers; telling me they were a 
rude, unmannerly people, that would not give civil re- 
spect or honor to their superiors, no, not to magistrates j 
that they held many dangerous principles ; that they 
were an immodest, shameless people ; and that one of 
them stripped himself stark naked, and went in that 
unseemly manner about the streets, at fairs, and on 
market-days, in great towns. To all the other charges 
I answered only, that perhaps they might be either 
misreported or misunderstood, as the best of people had 
sometimes been. But to the last charge of going naked, 
a particular answer, by way of instance, was just then 
brought into my mind, and put into my mouth, which 
I had not thought of before, and that was, the example 
of Isaiah, who went naked among the people for a long 
time (Isaiah xx. 2, 3). "Aye," said my father, "but 
you must consider that he was a prophet of the Lord, 
and had an express command from Grod to do so.'^ 
"Yes, sir," rephed I, " I do consider that; but I con- 
sider also, that the Jews, among whom he lived, did 
not own him for a prophet, nor believe that he had 
such a command from God. And," added I, "how 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 211 

know we but tliat this Quaker may be a prophet too, 
and might be commanded to do as he did, for some rea- 
son which we understand not f '' 

This put my father to a stand ; so that, letting fall 
his charges against the Quakers, he only said: "I 
would wish you not to go so soon, but take a little time 
to consider of it; you may visit Mr. Penington hero- 
after." '^ Nay, sir," replied I, " pray don't hinder my 
going now, for I have so strong a desire to go that I 
do not well know how to forbear." And as I spake 
these words, I withdrew gently to the chamber door, 
and then, hastening down stairs, went immediately to 
the stable, where, finding my horse ready bridled, I 
forthwith mounted and went off, lest I should receive a 
countermand. 

This discourse with my father had cast me somewhat 
back in my journey, and it being fifteen long miles 
thither, the ways bad, and my nag but small, it was in 
the afternoon that I got thither. And understanding 
by the servant that took my horse, that there was then 
a meeting in the house (as there was weekly on that 
day, which was the fourth day of the week, though I 
till then understood it not), I hastened in, and, knowing 
the rooms, went directly to the little parlor, where I 
found a few Friends sitting together in silence, and I sat 
down among them well satisfied, though without words. 

When the meeting was ended, and those of the com- 
pany who were strangers withdrawn, I addressed my- 
self to Isaac Penington and his wife, who received me 
courteously ; but not knowing what exercise I had been 
in, and yet was under, nor having heard anything of 
me since I had been there before in another garb, were 
not forward at first to lay sudden hands on me j which 
I observed, and did not dislike. But as they came to 



212 THE LIFE OF 

see a change in ine, not in habit only, but in gesture, 
speech, and carriage, and which was more, in counte- 
nance also (for the exercise I had passed through, and 
yet was nnder, had imprinted a visible character of 
gravity upon my face), they were exceedingly kind and 
tender towards me. 

There was then in the family a Friend, whose name 
was Anne Curtis, the wife of Thomas Curtis, of 
Reading, who was come upon a visit to them, and 
particularly to see Mary Penington's daughter Guli, 
who had been ill of the small-pox since I had been 
there before. Betwixt Mary Penington and this 
Friend I observed some private discourse and whisper- 
ings, and I had an apprehension that it was upon 
something that concerned me. Wherefore I took the 
freedom to ask Mary Penington if my coming thither 
had occasioned any inconvenience in the ftimily j she 
asked me if I had had the small-pox. I told her no. 
She then told me her daughter had newly had them, 
and though she was well recovered of them, she had 
not as yet been down amongst them, but had intended 
to come down and sit with them in the parlor that 
evening; yet would rather forbear till another time, 
than endanger me : and that that was the matter they 
had been discoursing of. I assured her that I had 
always been, and then more especially was, free from 
any apprehension of danger in that respect, and there- 
fore entreated that her daughter might come down. 
And although they were somewhat unwilling to yield 
to it, in regard of me, yet my importunity prevailed, 
and after supper she did come down and sit with us ; 
and though the marks of the distemper were fresh 
upon her, yet they made no impression upon me, faith 
keeping out fear. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 21 



o 



We spent miicli of the evening in retiredness of 
mind, our spirits being weiglitily gathered inward, 
so that not much discourse passed among us, neither 
they to me, nor I to them offered any occasion. Yet I 
had good satisfaction in that stillness, feeling my spirit 
drawn near to the Lord and to them therein. Before 
I went to bed, they let me know that there was to be 
a meeting at Wycombe next day, and that some of the 
family would go to it. I was very glad of it, for I 
greatly ■ desired to go to meetings, and this fell very 
aptly, it being in my way home. Next morning Isaac 
Penington himself went, having Anue Curtis with him, 
and I accompanied them. 

At Wycombe we met with Edward Burrough, who 
came from Oxford thither that day that I, going thither, 
met him on the way ; and having both our mountier- 
caps on, we recollected that we had met, and passed 
by each other on the road unknown. 

This was a Monthly Meeting, consisting of Friends 
chiefly, who gathered to it from several parts of the 
country thereabouts, so that it was pretty large, and 
was held in a fair room in Jeremiah Stevens's house ; 
the room where I had been at a meeting before in 
John Raunce's house being too little to receive us. A 
very good meeting was this in itself and to me. Ed- 
ward Burrough's ministry came forth among us in 
life and power, and the assembly was covered there- 
with. I also, according to my small capacity, had a 
share therein; for I felt some of that divine poM^er 
working my spirit into a great tenderness, and not 
only confirming me in the course I had already en- 
tered, and strengthening me to go on therein, but 
rending the veil also somewhat further, and clearing 
my understanding in some other things M^hich I had 



214 THE LIFE OF 

not seen before. For the Lord was pleased to make 
his discoveries to me by degrees, that the sight of 
too great a work, and too many enemies to encounter 
with at once, might not discourage me and make me 
faint. 

When the meeting was ended, the Friends of the 
town taking notice that I was the man that had been 
at their meeting the week before, M^hom they then 
did not know, some of them came and spake lovingly 
to me, and would have had me stay with them : but 
Edward Burrough going home Mdth Isaac Penington, 
he invited me to go back with him, which I willingly 
consented to ; for the love I had more particularly to 
Edward Burrough, through whose ministry I had re- 
ceived the first awakening stroke, drew me to desire 
his company ; and so away we rode together. But I 
was somewhat disappointed of my expectation, for I 
hoped he would have given me both opportunity and 
encouragement to open myself to him, and to pour 
forth my complaints, fears, doubts, and questions into 
his bosom. But he, being sensible that I was truly 
reached, and that the witness of God was raised, and 
the work of God rightly begun in me, chose to leave 
me to the guidance of the good spirit in myself, the 
counsellor that can resolve all doubts, that I might not 
have any dependence on man. Wherefore, although 
he was naturally of an open and free temper and car- 
riage, and was afterwards always very familiar and 
affectionately kind to me, yet, at this time, he kept 
himself somewhat reserved, and showed only common 
kindness to me. 

Next day we parted, he for London, I home, under 
a very great weight and exercise upon my spirit. For 
I now saw, in and by the farther openings of the 



'. THOMAS ELL WOOD. 215 

divine liglit in me, that the enemy, by his false 
reasonings, liad beguiled and misled me, with respect 
to my carriage towards my father. For I now clearly 
saw the honor due to parents did not consist in un- 
covering the head and bowing the body to them, but 
in a ready obedience to their lawful commands, and in 
performing all needful services unto them. Where- 
fore, as I was greatly troubled for what I already had 
done in that case, though it was through ignorance, 
so I plainly felt I could no longer continue therein, 
without drawing on myself the guilt of wilful disobe- 
dience, which I well knew would draw after it Divine 
displeasure and judgment. 

Hereupon the enemy assaulted me afresh, setting 
before me the danger I should run myself into of pro- 
voking my father to use severity towards me, and 
perhaps to the casting of me utterly off. But over 
this temptation the Lord, whom I cried unto, sup- 
ported me, and gave me faith to believe that he would 
bear me through whatever might befall me on that 
account. Wherefore I resolved, in the strength which 
he should give me, to be faithful to his requirings, 
whatever might come of it. 

Thus laboring under various exercises on the way, 
I at length got home, expecting I should have but a 
rough reception from my father. But when I came 
home, I understood my father was from home. Where- 
fore I sat down by the fire in the kitchen, keeping my 
mind retired to the Lord, with breathings of spirit to 
him, that I might be preserved from falling. 

After some time I heard the coach drive in, which 
put me into a little fear, and a sort of shivering came 
over me. But by that time he was alighted and come 
in, I had pretty well recovered myself; and as soon 



216 THE LIFE OF 

as I saw him I rose up, and advanced a step or two 
toM'^ards him, with my head covered, and said, ^' Isaac 
Penington and his wife remember their loves to thee." 
He made a stop to hear what I said, and observing 
that I did not stand bare, and that I used the word 
thee to him, he with a stern countenance, and tone 
that spake high displeasure, only said, '^I shall talk 
with you, sir, another time " ; and so, hastening from 
me, went into the parlor, and I saw him no more that 
night. 

Though 1 foresaw there was a storm arising, the ap- 
prehension of which was uneasy to me, yet the peace 
which I felt in my own breast raised in me a return of 
thanksgivings to the Lord for his gracious supporting- 
hand, which had thus far carried me through this 
exercise ; with humble cries in spirit to him, that he 
would vouchsafe to stand by me in it to the end, and 
uphold me, that I might not fall. 

My spirit longed to be among Friends, and to be at 
some meeting with them on the first day, which now 
drew on, this being the sixth-day night. Wherefore I 
purposed to go to Oxford on the morrow, which was 
the seventh day of the week, having heard there was 
a meeting there. Accordingly, having ordered my 
horse to be ready betimes, I got up in the morning 
and made myself ready also. Yet before I would go, 
that I might be as observant to my father as possibly 
I could, I desired my sister to go up to him in his 
chamber, and acquaint him that I had a mind to go 
to Oxford, and desired to know if he pleased to com- 
mand me any service there. He bid her tell me he 
would not have me go till he had spoken with me ; 
and, getting up immediately, he hastened down to me 
before he was quite dressed. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 217 

As soon as he saw me standing with my hat on, his 
passion transporting him, he fell upon me with both his 
iists ; and having by that means somewhat vented his 
anger, he plucked off my hat and threw it away. Then 
stepping hastily out to the stable, and seeing my bor- 
rowed nag stand ready saddled and bridled, he asked 
his man whence that horse came ; who telling him he 
fetched it from Mr. such an one's, '^ Then ride him 

presently back," said my father, ^' and tell Mr. I 

desire he will never lend my son a horse again, unless 
he brings a note from me.'' 

The poor fellow, who loved me well, would have 
fain made excuses and delays } but my father was pos- 
itive in his command, and so urgent that he would not 
let him stay so much as to take his breakfast, though he 
had live miles to ride ; nor would he himself stir from 
the stable till he had seen the man mounted and gone. 
Then coming in, he went up into his chamber to make 
himself more fully ready, thinking he had me safe 
enough now my horse was gone ; for I took so much 
delight in riding that I seldom went on foot. But 
while he was dressing himself in his chamber, I, who 
understood what had been done, changing my boots for 
shoes, took another hat, and, acquainting my sister, 
who loved me very well, and whom I could confide in, 
whither I meant to go, went out privately, and walked 
away to Wycombe, having seven long miles thither, 
which yet seemed little and easy to me, from the de- 
sire I had to be among Friends. 

As thus I travelled all alone, under the load of grief, 
from the sense I had of the opposition and hardship I 
was to expect from my father, theene my took advan- 
tage to assault me again, casting a doubt into my 
mind whether I had done well in thus coming away 



218 THE LIFE OF 

from my father without his leave or knowledge. I was 
quiet and peaceable in my spirit before this question 
was darted into me ; but after that, disturbance and 
trouble seized upon me, so that I was at a stand what 
to do, whether to go forward or backward. Fear of 
offending inclined me to go back, but desire of meeting, 
and to be with Friends, pressed me to go forward. I 
stood still awhile to consider and weigh, as well as I 
could, the matter. I was sensibly satisfied that I had 
not left my father with any intention of undutifulness 
or disrespect to him, but merely in obedience to that 
drawing of spirit, which I was persuaded was of the 
Lord, to join with his people in worshipping him : and 
this made me easy. 

But then the enemy, to make me uneasy again, ob- 
jected : '' But how could that drawing be of the Lord, 
which drew me to disobey my father "? " I considered 
thereupon the extent of paternal power, which I found 
was not wholly arbitrary and unlimited, but had bounds 
set unto it ; so that, as in civil matters it was restrained 
to things lawful, so in spiritual and rehgious cases it 
had not a compulsory power over conscience, which 
ought to be subject to the Heavenly Father. And 
therefore, though obedience to parents be enjoined to 
children, yet it is with this limitation in the Lord : 
'^ Children, obey your parents in the Lord; for this is 
light." (1 Pet. vi. 1.) 

This turned the scale for going forward, and so on 
I went. And yet I was not wholly free from some 
fluctuations of mind, from the besettings of the enemy. 
Wherefore, although I knew that outward signs did not 
properly belong to the gospel dispensation, yet for my 
better assurance I did, in fear and great humility, be- 
seech the Lord that he would be pleased so far to 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 219 

condescend to the weakness of his servant, as to give 
me a sign by which I might certainly know whether 
my way was right before liim or not. 

The sign whicli I asked was, that if I had done 
wrong in coming as I did, I might be rejected, or but 
coldly received at the place I was going to ; but if 
this my undertaking was right in his sight, that he 
would give me favor with them I went to, so that 
they should receive me with kindness and demonstra- 
tions of love. Accordingly, when I came to John 
Raunce's house (which, being so much a stranger to 
all, I chose to go to, because I understood the meeting 
was commonly held there), they received me with more 
than ordinary kindness, especially Frances Raunce, 
John Raunce's then wife, who was both a grave and 
motherly woman, and had a hearty love to truth, and 
tenderness towards all that in sincerity sought after it. 
And this so kind reception, confirming me in the belief 
that my undertaking was approved of by the Lord, 
gave great satisfaction and ease to my mind ; and I was 
thankful to the Lord therefore. 

Thus it fared with me there ; but at home it fared 
otherwise with my father. He, supposing I had be- 
taken myself to my chamber when he took my hat 
from me, made no inquiry after me till evening came } 
and then, sitting by the fire and considering the weather 
was very cold, he said to my sister, who sat by him, 
^' Go up to your brother's chamber, and call him down ; 
it may be he will sit there else, in a sullen fit, till he 
has caught cold." ''Alas! sir," said she, ''he is not 
in his chamber, nor in the house either." At that my 
father, starthng, said, "Why, where is he then?" 
" I know not, sir," said she, " where he is ; but I 
know that when he saw you had sent away his horse, 



220 THE LIFE OF 

he put on shoes, and went out on foot, and I have not 
seen him since. And indeed, sir," added she, '' I don't 
wonder at his going away, considering how you used 
hira." This put my father into a great fright, doubt- 
ing I was gone quite away } and so great a passion of 
grief seized on him, that he forbore not to weep, and 
to cry out aloud, so that the family heard him, '^Oh! 
my son ! I shall never see him more ! for he is of so 
bold and resolute a spirit, that he will run himself into 
danger, and so may be thrown into some jail or other, 
where he may lie and die before I can hear of him." 
Then bidding her light him up to his chamber, he 
went immediately to bed, where he lay restless and 
groaning, and often bemoaning himself and me, for the 
greatest part of the night. 

Next morning my sister sent a man, whom for his 
love to me she knew she could trust, to give me this 
account ; and though by him she sent me also fresh 
linen for my use, in case I should go farther, or stay 
out longer, yet she desired me to come home as soon 
as I could. 

This account was very uneasy to me. I was much 
grieved that I had occasioned so much grief to my 
father ; and I would have returned that evening after 
the meeting, but the Friends would not permit it, for 
the meeting would in likelihood end late, the days 
being short, and the way was long and dirty. And 
besides, John Raunce told me he had something on his 
mind to speak to my father, and that if I would stay 
till next day he M'ould go down with me, hoping, per- 
haps, that while my father was under this sorrow for 
me, he might work some good upon him. Hereupon, 
concluding to stay till the morrow, I dismissed the 
man with the things he brought, bidding him tell my 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 221 

sister I intended, God willing, to return liome to-mor- 
row ; and charging him not to let anybody else know 
that he had seen me, or where he had been. 

Next morning John Kaunce and I set out, and when 
we were come to the end of the town, we agreed that 
he should go before and knock at the great gate, and 
I would come a little after, and go in by the back way. 
He did so; and when a servant came to open the gate, 
he asking if the justice were at home, she told him yes ; 
and desiring him to come in and sit down in the hall, 
went and acquainted her master that there was one 
who desired to speak with him. He, supposing it was 
one that came for justice, went readily into the hall to 
him. But he was not a little surprised when he found 
it was a Quaker ; yet, not knowing on what account 
he came, he stayed to hear his business. But when he 
found it was about me, he fell somewhat sharply on 
him. 

In this time I was come by the back way into the 
kitchen, and, hearing my father's voice so loud, I be- 
gan to doubt things wrought not well ; but I was soon 
assured of that. For my father, having quickly enough 
of the Quaker's company, left John E-aunce in the hall, 
and eame into the kitchen, where he was more sur- 
prised to find me. The sight of my hat upon my head 
made him presently forget that I was that son of his 
whom he had so lately lamented as lost ; and his pas- 
sion of grief turning into anger, he could not contain 
himself, but, running upon me with both his hands, first 
violently snatched off my hat, and threw it away, then, 
giving me some bufi'ets upon my head, he said, '^ Sir- 
rah, get you up to your chamber." I forthwith went, 
he following me at my heels, and now and then giving 
me a whirret on the ear, which, the way to my cham- 



222 THE LIFE OF 

"ber lying through the hall where John Raimce was, 
he, poor man, might see and he sorry for, as I douht 
not that he was, hut could not help me. 

This was sure an unaccountahle thing, that my 
father should hut a day hefore express so high a sor- 
row for me, as fearing he should never see me any 
more, and yet now, so soon as he did see me, should 
fly upon me with such violence, and that only because 
I did not put off my hat, which he knew I did not put 
on in disrespect to him, hut upon a religious principle. 
But as this hat-honor, as it was accounted, was grown 
to be a great idol, in those times more especially, so 
the Lord was pleased to engage his servants in a 
steady testimony against it, what suffering soever was 
hrought upon them for it. And though some who 
have heen called into the Lord's vineyard at later hours, 
and since the heat of that day hath heen much over, 
may he apt to account this testimony a small thing to 
suffer so much upon, as some have done, not only to 
heating, hut to fines and long and hard imprisonments ; 
yet they who, in those times, were faithfully exercised 
in and under it durst not despise the day of small 
things, as knowing that he who should do so would 
not he thought worthy to he concerned in higher tes- 
timonies. 

I had now lost one of my hats, and I had hut one 
more. That therefore I put on, hut I did not keep it 
long, for the next time my father saw it on my head, 
he tore it violently from me, and laid it up with the 
other, I knew not where. Wherefore I put on my 
mountier-cap, which was all I had left to wear on my 
head, and it was hut a very little while that I had that 
to wear ; for as soon as my father came where I was, I 
lost that also. And now I was forced to go hare- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 223 

headed, wherever I had occasion to go, within doors 
and without. 

This was in the eleventh month, called January, 
and the weather sharp, so that I, who had been bred 
up more tenderly, took so great a cold in my head, 
that my face and head were much swelled, and my 
gums had on them boils so sore, that I could neither 
chew meat, nor without difficulty swallow liquids. It 
held long, and I underwent much pain, without much 
pity, except from my poor sister, who did what she 
could to give me ease ; and at length, by frequent 
applications of figs and stoned raisins toasted, and laid 
on the boils as hot as I could bear them, they ripened 
fit for lancing, and soon after sunk ; then I had ease. 

Now was I laid up as a kind of prisoner for the rest 
of the winter, having no means to go forth among 
Friends, nor they at liberty to come to me. Wherefore 
I spent the time much in my chamber, in waiting on 
the Lord, and in reading, mostly in the Bible. But 
whenever I had occasion to speak to my father, though 
I had no hat now to ofi'end him, yet my language did 
as much, for I durst not say you to him, but thou or 
thee, as the occasion required, and then would he be 
sure to fall on me with his fists. 

At one of these times, I remember, when he had 
beaten me in that manner, he commanded me, as he 
commonly did at such times, to go to my chamber ; 
which I did, and he followed me to the bottom of the 
stairs. Being come thither, he gave me a parting 
blow, and in a very angry tone said, '' Sirrah, if ever 
I hear you say thou or thee to me again, I'll strike 
your teeth dowm your throat." I was greatly grieved 
to hear him say so. And feeling a word rise in my 
heart unto him, I turned again, and calmly said unto 



224 . THE LIFE OF 

him, ^^ Would it not be just if God should serve thee 
so, when thou sayest thou or thee to him ? " Though 
his hand was up, I saw it sink and his countenance 
fall, and he turned away and left me standing there. 

But I notwithstanding went up into my chamber, 
and cried unto the Lord, earnestly beseeching him 
that he would be pleased to open my father's eyes, that 
he might see whom he fought against, and for what; 
and that he would turn his heart. 

After this I had a pretty time of rest and quiet from 
these disturbances, my father not saying anything to 
me, nor giving me occasion to say anything to him. 
But I was still under a kind of confinement, unless I 
would have run about the country bareheaded like a 
madman ; which I did not see it was my place to do. 
For 1 found that, although to be abroad and at liberty 
among my friends would have been more pleasant to 
me, yet home was at present my proper place, a school 
in which I was to learn with patience to bear the cross ; 
and I willingly submitted to it. 

But after some time a fresh storm, more fierce and 
sharp than any before, arose and fell upon me; the 
occasion whereof was this. My father, who (having 
been in his younger years, more especially while he 
lived in London, a constant hearer of those who are 
called Puritan preachers) had stored up a pretty stock 
of Scripture knowledge, did sometimes, not constantly 
nor very often, cause his family to come together on a 
first day in the evening, and expound a chapter to 
them, and pray. His family now, as well as his estate, 
was lessened; for my mother was dead, my brother 
gone, and my elder sister at London ; and having put 
off his husbandry, he had put off with it most of his 
servants, so that he had now but one man and one 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 225 

maid-servant. It so fell out, that on a first-day night 
he bid my sister, who sat with hiin in the parlor, call 
in the servants to prayer. 

Whether this was done as a trial upon me or no, I 
know not, but a trial it proved to me ; for they loving 
me very well, and disliking my father's carriage to me, 
made no haste to go in, but stayed a second summons. 
This so ofiiended him, that when at length they did go 
in, he, instead of going to prayer, examined them why 
they came not in when they were first called ; and the 
answer they gave him being such as rather heightened 
than abated his displeasure, he, with an angry tone, 
said, ''Call in that fellow," (meaning me, who was left 
alone in the kitchen), '' for he is the cause of all this." 
They, as they were backward to go in themselves, so 
were not forward to call me in, fearing the effect of my 
father's displeasure would fall upon me, as soon it did ; 
for I hearing what was said, and not staying for the 
call, went in of myself. And as soon as I was come in 
my father discharged his displeasure at me in very 
sharp and bitter expressions, which drew from me, in 
the grief of my heart to see him so transported with 
passion, these few words: '' They that can pray with 
such a spirit let them ; for my part I cannot." With 
that my father flew upon me with both his fists, and, 
not thinking that sufficient, stepped hastily to the place 
where his cane stood, and catching that up, laid on 
me, I thought, with all his strength. And, I being 
bareheaded, I thought his blows must needs have 
broken my skull, had I not laid my arm over my head 
to defend it. 

His man seeing this, and not able to contain himself, 
stepped in between us, and, laying hold on the cane, 
by strength of hand held it so fast that though he 



226 THE LIFE OF 

attempted not to take it away, yet he withheld my 
father from striking with it, which did hut enrage him 
the more, I disliked this in the man, and hid him let 
go the cane, and he gone, which he immediately did, 
and turning to he gone had a hlow on the shoulders 
for his pains, which yet did not much hurt him. But 
now my sister, fearing lest my father should fall upon 
me again, hesought him to forhear, adding, '■^ Indeed, 
sir, if you strike him any more, I will throw open the 
casement and cry out murder, for I am afraid you will 
kill my brother." This stopped his hand, and after 
some threatening speeches, he commanded me to get to 
my chamber, which I did ; as I always did whenever 
he bid me. 

Thither, soon after, my sister followed me to see my 
arm and dress it, for it was indeed very much bruised 
and swelled between the wrist and the elbow, and in 
some places the skin was broken and beaten off. But 
though it was very sore, and I felt for some time much 
pain in it, yet I had peace and quietness in my mind, 
being more grieved for my father than for myself, who 
I knew had hurt himself more than me. This was, so 
far as I remember, the last time that ever my father 
called his family to prayer. And this was also the last 
time that he ever fell, so severely at least, upon me. 

Soon after this my elder sister, who in all the time of 
these exercises of mine had been at London, returned 
home, much troubled to find me a Quaker, — a name of 
reproach and great contempt then; and she being at 
London had received, I suppose, the worst character of 
them. Yet, though she disliked the people, her affec- 
tionate regard to me made her rather pity than de- 
spise me : and the more, when she understood what 
hard usage I had met w'ith. 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 227 

The rest of this winter I spent in a lonesome, solitary 
life, having none to converse with, none to unbosom 
myself nnto, none to ask counsel of, none to seek 
relief from, but the Lord alone, who yet was more than 
all. And yet the company and society of faithful and 
judicious friends would, I thought, have been very wel- 
come, as well as helpful to me in my spiritual travail ; 
in which I thought I made but a slow progress, my 
soul breathing after further attainments : the sense of 
which drew from me the following lines : — 

The winter tree 
Resembles me. 

Whose sap lies in its root : 
The spring draws nigh ; 
As it, so I 

Shall bud, I hope, and shoot. 

At length it pleased the Lord to move Isaac Pening- 
ton and his wife to make a visit to my father, and see 
how it fared with me : and very welcome they w^erc to 
me, whatever they were to him ; to whom I doubt not 
but they would have been more "welcome had it not 
been for me. They tarried with us all night, and much 
discourse they had with my father both about the prin^ 
ciples of truth in general, and me in particular, wliicli 
I was not privy to. But one thing I remember I after- 
wards heard of, which was this : — 

When my father and I were at their house some 
months before, Mary Penington, in some discourse 
then, had told him how hardly her husband's father, 
Alderman Penington, had dealt with him about his 
hat; which my father, little then thinking that it 
would, and so soon too, be his own case, did very much 
censure the alderman for; wondering that so wise a 



228 THE LIFE OF 

man as lie was should take notice of such a trivial thing 
as the putting off or keeping on of a hat ; and he spared 
not to blame him liberally for it. This gave her a 
handle to take hold of him by. And having had an 
ancient acquaintance with him, and he having always 
had a high opinion of and respect for her, she, who 
was a woman of great wisdom, of ready speech, and of 
a well-resolved spirit, did press so close upon him with 
this home argument, that he was utterly to seek, and 
at a loss how to defend himself. 

After dinner next day, when they were ready to take 
coach to return home, she desired my father that, since 
my company was so little acceptable to hiui, he would 
give me leave to go and spend some time with them, 
where I should be sure to be welcome. He was very 
unwilling I should go, and made many objections 
against it, all which she answered and removed so 
clearly, that not finding what excuse farther to allege, 
he at length left it to me, and I soon turned the scale 
for going. 

We were come to the coach side before this was con- 
cluded on, and I was ready to step in, when one of my 
sisters privately put my father in mind that I had never 
a hat on. That somewhat startled him, for he did not 
think it fit I should go from home, and that so far, 
and to stay abroad without a hat. Wherefore he whis- 
pered to her to fetch me a hat, and he entertained them 
with some discourse in the mean time. But as soon as 
he saw the hat coming he would not stay till it came, 
lest I should put it on before him, but, breaking off his 
discourse abruptly, took his leave of them, and has- 
tened in before the hat was brought to me. 

I had not one penny of money about me, nor indeed 
elsewhere ; for my father, as soon as he saw I would 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 229 

be a Quaker, took from me both what money I had, 
and everything else of value, or that would have made 
money, as some plate buttons, rings, etc., pretending 
that he would keep them for me till I came to myself 
again, lest I, in the mean time, should destroy them. 
But as I had no money, so being among my friends I 
had no need of any, nor ever honed after it; though 
once upon a particular occasion I had like to have 
wanted it ; the case was thus : — 

I had been at Reading, and set out from thence on 
the first day of the week in the morning, intending to 
reach (as in point of time I well might) to Isaac Pen- 
ington's, where the meeting was to be that day ; but 
when I came to Maidenhead, a thoroughfare town on 
the way, I was stopped by the watch for riding on 
that day. The watchman, laying hold on the bridle, 
told me I must go with him to the constable ; and 
accordingly I, making no resistance, suffered him to 
lead my horse to the constable's door. When we were 
come there, the constable told me I must go before the 
warden, who was the chief officer of that town, and bid 
the watchman bring me on, himself walking before. 

Being come to the warden's door, the constable 
knocked, and desired to speak with Mr. Warden. He 
thereupon quickly coming to the door, the constable 
said : '^ Sir, I have brought a man here to you, whom 
the watch took riding through the town." The war- 
den was a budge old man ; and I looked somewhat 
big too, having a good horse under me, and a good 
riding coat on my back, both which my friend Isaac 
Penington had kindly accommodated me with for that 
journey. The warden therefore, taking me to be, as 
the saying is, somebody, put oif his hat and made a low 
conge to me ; but when he saw that I sat still, and 



230 THE LIFE OF 

neither bowed to him nor inoyed my hat, he gave f£ 
start, and said to the constable : '^ You said you had 
brought a man, but he don't behave himself like a 
man." I sat still upon my horse, and said not a word, 
but kept my mind retired to the Lord, waiting to see 
what this would come to. 

The warden then began to examine me, asking me 
whence I came, and whither I was going : I told him 
I came from Reading, and was going to Chalfont. 
He asked me why I did travel on that day : I told him 
I did not know that it would give any offence barely 
to ride or to walk on that day, so long as I did not 
carry or drive any carriage, or horses laden with bur- 
dens. '^ Why," said he, '^ if your business was urgent, 
did you not take a pass from the mayor of Reading 1 " 
'^Because," replied I, '^ I did not know nor think I 
should have needed one." ''Well," said he, "I will 
not talk with you now, because it is 'time to go to 
church, but I wUl examiue you farther anon." And 
turning to the constable, ''Have him," said he, "to 
an inn, and bring him before me after dinner." 

The naming of an inn put me in mind that such 
public houses were places of expense, and I kjiew I had 
no money to defray it : wherefore I said to the warden : 
" Before thou sendest me to an inn, which may occasion 
some expense, I think it needful to acquaint thee that I 
have no money." At that the warden startled again, 
and, turning quick upon me, said, " How ! no money ? 
How can that be ? You don't look like a man that has 
no money." " However I look," said I, " I teU thee 
the truth, that I have no money ; and I tell it to fore- 
warn thee, that thou mayest not bring any charge upon 
the town." " I wonder," said he, " what art you have 
got, that you can travel without money ; you can do 
more, I assure you, than I can." 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 231 

I making no answer, he went on and said : " Well, 
well ! but if you have no money, you have a good 
horse under you, and we can distrain him for the 
charge." ^' But," said I, '' the horse is not mine." 
'^No!" said he, '^but you have a good coat on your 
back, and that I hope is your own." '^ No," said I, 
"but it is not, for I borrowed both the horse and the 
coat." With that the warden, holding up his hands, and 
smiling, said, " Bless me ! I never met with such a man 
as you are before ! What ! were you set out by the 
parish?" Then turning to the constable, he said, 
'' Have him to the Grreyhound, and bid the people be 
civil to him." Accordingly to the Greyhound I was 
led, my horse set up, and I put into a large room, and 
some account, I suppose, given of me to the people of 
the house. 

This was new work to me, and what the issue of it 
would be I could not foresee ; but, being left there 
alone, I sat down, and retired in spirit to the Lord, in 
whom alone my strength and safety was, and begged 
support of him; even that he would be pleased to 
give me wisdom and words to answer the warden, 
when I should come to be examined again before 
him. 

After some time, having pen, ink, and paper about 
me, I set myself to write what I thought might be 
proper, if occasion served, to give the warden; and 
while I was writing, the master of the house, being 
come home from his worship, sent the tapster to me, 
to invite me to dine with him. I bid him tell his 
master that I had not any money to pay for my dinner. 
He sent the man again to tell me I should be welcome 
to dine with him, though I had no money. I desired 
him to tell his master that I was very sensible of his 



232 THE LIFE OF 

civility and kindness in so courteously inviting me to 
his table, but that I had not freedom to eat of his meat 
unless I could have paid for it. So he went on with 
his dinner, and I with my writing. 

But before I had finished what was on my mind to 
write, the constable came again, bringing with him his 
fellow-constable. This was a brisk, genteel young 
man, a shopkeeper in the town, whose name was 
Cherry. They saluted me very civilly, and told me 
they were come to have me before the warden. This 
put an end to my writing, which I put into my pocket, 
and went along with them. 

Being come to the warden's, he asked me again the 
same questions he had asked me before ; to which I 
gave him the lilie answers. Then he told me the pen- 
alty I had incurred, which he said was either to pay so 
much money, or lie so many hours in the stocks, and 
asked me which I would choose. I replied, '' I shall 
not choose either. And," said I, '' I have told thee 
already that I have no money; though if I had, I 
could not so far acknowledge myself an ofiender as to 
pay any. But as to lying in the stocks, I am in thy 
power to do unto me what it shall please the Lord to 
suffer thee." 

When he heard that, he paused awhile, and then 
told me he considered that I was but a young 
man, and might not perhaps understand the danger 
I had brought myself into, and therefore he would not 
use the severity of the law upon me ; but in hopes 
that I would be wiser hereafter, he would pass by this 
offence, and discharge me. 

Then, putting on a countenance of the greatest 
gravity, he said to me: ''But, young man, I would 
have you know that you have not only broken the 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 233 

law of the land, but the law of God also ; and there- 
fore you ought to ask him forgiveness, for you have 
offended him." ^' That," said I, '^ I would most 
willingly do if I were sensible that in this case I had 
offended him by breaking any law of his." ''Why," 
said he, '^ do you question that f " '' Yes, truly," said 
I, ' ' for I do not know that any law of God doth forbid 
me to ride on this day." 

'' No I " said he, '' that 's strange ! Where, I won- 
der, was you bred ? You can read, can't you ? " '' Yes," 
said I, 'Hhat I can." ''Don't you then read," said 
he, " the commandment, ' Remember the Sabbath 
day to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labor and 
do all thy work ; but the seventh day is the Sabbath 
of the Lord ; in it thou shalt not do any work ' f " 
" Yes," replied I, "I have both read it often, and 
remember it very well. But that command was 
given to the Jews, not to Christians ; and this is not 
that day, for that was the seventh day, but this is the 
first." "How!" said he, "do you know the days 
of the week no better ? You had need then be better 
taught." 

Here the younger constable, whose name was Cherry, 
interposing, said, "Mr. Warden, the gentleman is in 
the right as to that, for this is the first day of the 
week, and not the seventh." This the old warden 
took in dudgeon ; and, looking severely on the con- 
stable, said: " What ! do you take upon you to teach 
me ? I '11 have you know I will not be taught by 
you.^^ " As you please for that, sir," said the constable, 
"but I am sure you are mistaken in this point ; for 
Saturday, I know, is the seventh day, and you know 
yesterday was Saturday." 

This made the warden hot and testy, and put him 



234 THE LIFE OF 

almost out of all patience, so that T feared it would have 
come to a downright quarrel betwixt them, for both 
were confident and neither would yield. And so 
earnestly were they engaged in the contest, that there 
was no room for me to put in a word between them. 
At length the old man, having talked himself out of 
wind, stood still awhile as it were to take breath, and 
then, bethinking himself of me, he turned to me and 
said : '^ You are discharged, and may take your lib- 
erty to go about your occasions." ^^But," said I, ''I 
desire my horse may be discharged too, else I know 
not how to go." ''Aye, aye," said he, '^ you shall 
have your horse " ; and, turning to the other consta- 
ble, who had not offended him, he said, '■'■ Go, see that 
his horse be delivered to him." 

Away thereupon went I with that constable, leaving 
the old warden and the young constable to compose 
their difference as they could. Being come to the 
inn, the constable called for my horse to be brought 
out; which done, I immediately mounted, and began 
to set forward. But the ostler, not knowing the con- 
dition of my pocket, said modestly to me, '' Sir, don't 
you forget to pay for your horse's standing? " ''No, 
truly," said I, '' I don't forget it, but I have no money 
to pay it with, and so I told the warden before." 
'' Well, hold you your tongue," said the constable 
to the ostler, '' I '11 see you paid." Then opening the 
gate they let me out, the constable wishing me a good 
journey, and through the town I rode without further 
molestation ; though it was as much Sabbath, 1 
thought, when I went out, as it was when I came in. 

A secret joy arose in me as I rode on the way, for 
that I had been preserved from doing or saying any- 
thing which might give the adversaries of truth ad- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 235 

vantage against it or the friends of it } and praises 
sprang in my thankful heart to the Lord, my pre- 
server. It added also not a little to my joy that I 
felt the Lord near unto me, by his witness in my 
heart, to check and warn me ; and my spirit was so far 
subjected to him, as readily to take warning, and stop 
at his check ; an instance of both, that very morning, 
I had. 

For as I rode between Keading and Maidenhead, I 
saw lying in my way the scabbard of a hanger, which, 
having lost its hook, had slipped off, I suppose, and 
dropped from the side of the wearer ; and it had in it 
a pair of knives, whose hafts, being inlaid with silver, 
seemed to be of some value. I alighted and took it 
up, and, clapping it between my thigh and the saddle, 
rode on a little way ; but I quickly found it too heavy 
for me, and the reprover in me soon began to check. 
The words arose in me, " What hast thou to do with 
that ? Doth it belong to thee ? " I felt I had done 
amiss in taking it; wherefore I turned back to the 
place where it lay, and laid it down where I found it. 
And when afterguards I was stopped and seized on at 
Maidenhead, I saw there was a providence in not 
bringing it with me, which, if it should have been 
found (as it needs must) under my coat when I came 
to be unhorsed, might have raised some evil suspicion 
or sinister thoughts concerning me. 

The stop I met with at Maidenhead had spent me 
so much time, that when I came to Isaac Penington's, 
the meeting there was half over, which gave them 
occasion, after meeting, to inquire of me if anything 
had befallen me on the way, which had caused me to 
come so late : whereupon I related to them what exer- 
cise I had met with, and how the Lord had helped me 



236 THE LIFE OF 

througli it ; which when they had heard, they rejoiced 
with me, and for my sake. 

Great was the love and manifold the kindness which 
I received from these my worthy friends, Isaac and 
Mary Penington, while I ahode in their family. They 
were indeed as affectionate parents and tender nurses 
to me in this time of my religious childhood. For, 
hesides their weighty and seasonahle counsels and ex- 
emplary conversations, they furnished me with means 
to go to the other meetings of Friends in that country, 
w^heu the meeting was not in their own house. And, 
indeed, the time I stayed with them was so well spent 
that it not only yielded great satisfaction to my mind, 
but turned, in good measure, to my spiritual advantage 
in the truth. 

But that I might not, on- the one hand, hear too 
hard upon my friends, nor on the other hand forget the 
house of thraldom, after I had stayed with them some 
six or seven weeks, from the time called Easter to the 
time called Whitsuntide, I took my leave of them to 
depart home, intending to walk to Wycombe in one 
day, and from thence home in another. 

The day that I came home I did not see my father, 
nor until noon the next day, when I went into the 
parlor where he was, to take my usual place at din- 
ner. As soon as I came in I observed by my father's 
countenance that my hat was still an offence to him ; 
but when I was sitting down, and before I had eaten 
anything, he made me understand it more fully, but 
in a milder tone than he had formerly used to speak 
to me in. ''If you cannot content yourself to come to 
dinner without your hive on your head [so he called 
my hat] , pray rise, and go take your dinner somewhere 
else." 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 237 

' Upon those words I arose from the tahle, and leav- 
ing the room went into the kitchen, where I stayed till 
the servants went to dinner, and then sat down very 
contentedly with them. Yet I suppose my father 
might intend that I should have gone into some other 
room, and there have eaten by myself. But I chose 
rather to eat with the servants, and did so from 
thenceforward, so long as he and I lived together. 
And from this time he rather chose, as I thought, to 
avoid seeing me, than to renew the quarrel about my 
hat. 

My sisters, meanwhile, observing my wariness in 
words and behavior, and being satisfied, I suppose, 
that I acted upon a principle of religion and con- 
science, carried themselves very kindly to me, and did 
what they could to mitigate my father's displeasure 
against me. So that I now enjoyed much more quiet 
at home, and took more liberty to go abroad amongst 
my friends, than I had done or could do before. And 
having informed myself where any meetings of Friends 
were held, within a reasonable distance from me, I 
resorted to them. 

As thus I daily waited on the Lord, a weighty and 
unusual exercise came upon me, which bowed my spirit 
very low before the Lord. I had seen, in the light of 
the Lord, the horrible guilt of those deceitful priests, 
of divers sorts and denominations, who made a trade of 
preaching, and for filthy lucre's sake held the people 
always learning ; yet so taught them as that, by their 
teaching and ministry, they were never able to come 
to the knowledge, much less to the acknowledgment of 
the truth : for as they themselves hated the light, be- 
cause their own deeds were evil, so by reviling, reproach- 
ing, and blaspheming the true light, wherewith every 



238 THE LIFE OF 

man that cometh into the world is enlightened (John 
i. 9.), they begat in the people a disesteem of the 
light; and labored, as much as in them lay, to keep 
their hearers in the darkness, that they might not be 
turned to the light in themselves, lest by the light they 
should discover the wickedness of these their deceitful 
teachers, and turn from them. 

Against this practice of these false teachers, the 
zeal of the Lord had flamed in my breast for some 
time ; and now the burden of the word of the Lord 
against them fell heavy upon me, with command to 
proclaim his controversy against them. 

Fain would I have been excused from this service, 
which I judged too heavy for me; wherefore I be- 
sought the Lord to take this weight from oif me, who 
was in every respect but young, and lay it upon some 
other of his servants, of whom he had many, who 
were much more able and fit for it. But the Lord 
would not be entreated, but continued the burden upon 
me with greater weight ; requiring obedience from me, 
and promising to assist me therein. Whereupon I 
arose from my bed, and, in the fear and dread of the 
Lord, committed to writing what he, in the motion of 
his divine spirit, dictated to me to write. When I 
had done it, though the sharpness of the message 
therein delivered was hard to my nature to be the 
publisher of, yet I found acceptance with the Lord in 
my obedience to his will, and his peace filled my heart. 
As soon as I could, I communicated to my friends what 
I had written ; and it was printed in the year 1660, 
in one sheet of paper, under the title of '^ An Alarm 
to the Priests ; or, A Message from Heaven to fore- 
warn them, etc." 

Some time after the publishing of this paper hav-^ 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 239 

ing occasion to go to London, I went to visit George 
Fox the younger, who, with another Friend, was then 
a prisoner in a messenger's hands. I had never seen 
him, nor he me before; yet this paper lying on the 
table before him, he, pointing to it, asked me if I was 
the person that wrote it. I told him I was. ''It's 
much," said the other Friend, "that they bear it." 
"It is," replied he, "their portion, and they must 
bear it." 

While I was in London, I went to a little meeting 
of Friends, which was held in the house of one Hum- 
phrey Bache, a goldsmith, at the sign of The Snail, in 
Tower Street. It was then a very troublesome time, 
not from the government, but from the rabble of boys 
and rude people, who, upon the turn of the times at 
the return of the king, took liberty to be very abusive. 

When the meeting was ended, a pretty number of 
these unruly folk were got together at the door, ready 
to receive the Friends as they came forth, not only 
with evil words, but with blows; which I saw they 
bestowed freely on some of them that were gone out 
before me, and expected I should have my share when 
I came amongst them. But, quite contrary to my 
expectation, when I came out, they said one to another, 
"Let him alone; don't meddle vidth him; he is no 
Quaker, I '11 warrant you." 

This struck me, and was worse to me than if they 
had laid their fists on me, as they did on others. I 
was troubled to think what the matter was, or what 
these rude people saw in me that made them not take 
me for a Quaker. And upon a close examination of 
myself, with respect to my habit and deportment, I 
could not find anything to place it on, but that I had 
then on my head a large mountier-cap of black vel- 



240 THE LIFE OF 

vet, the skirt of which being turned up in folds, looked, 
it seems, somewhat above the then common garb of a 
Quaker } and this put me out of conceit with my cap. 

I came at this time to London from Isaac Pening- 
ton's, and thither I went again in my way home ; and 
while I stayed there, amongst other Friends who came 
thither, Thomas Loe, of Oxford, was one. A faithful 
and diligent laborer he was in the work of the Lord, 
and an excellent ministerial gift he had. And I in 
my zeal for truth, being very desirous that my neigh- 
bors might have an opportunity of hearing the gospel, 
the glad tidings of salvation, livingly and pow- 
erfully preached among them, entered into commu- 
nication with him about it ; offering to procure some 
convenient place in the town where I lived, for a 
meeting to be held, and to invite my neighbors to 
it, if he could give me any ground to expect his com- 
pany at it. He told me he was not at liis own com- 
mand, but at the Lord's, and he knew not how he 
might dispose of him ; but wished me, if I found, when 
I was come home, that the thing continued with weight 
upon my mind, and that I could get a fit place for a 
meeting, I would advertise him of it by a few Hues, 
directed to him in Oxford, whither he was then going, 
and he might then let me know how his freedom stood 
in that matter. 

When therefore I was come home, and had treated 
with a neighbor for a place to have a meeting in, I 
MTote to my friend, Thomas Loe, to acquaint him that 
I had procured a place for a meeting, and m^ouM invite 
company to it, if he would fix the time, and give me 
some ground to hope that he would be at it. 

This letter I sent by a neighbor to Thame, to be 
given to a dyer of Oxford, who constantly kept Thame 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 241 

market, with whom I was pretty well acquainted, hav- 
ing sometimes formerly used him, not only in his way 
of trade, but to carry letters between my brother and 
me, when he was a student in that university, for which 
he was always paid, and he had been so careful in the 
delivery that our letters had always gone safe until 
now. But this time (Providence so ordering, or, at 
least, for my trial permitting it) this letter of mine, 
instead of being delivered according to its direction, 
was seized and carried, as I was told, to the Lord 
Faulkland, who was then called lord lieutenant of that 
county. 

The occasion of this stopping of letters at that time 
was that mad prank of those infatuated Fifth-mon- 
archy men, who, from their meeting-house in Coleman 
Street, London, breaking forth in arms, under the com- 
mand of their chieftain, Venner, made an insurrection 
in the city, on pretence of setting up the kingdom of 
Jesus, who, it is said, they expected would come down 
from Heaven to be their leader. So little understood 
they the nature of his kingdom, though he himself had 
declared it was not of this world. 

The king, a little before his arrival in England, had 
by his declaration from Breda, given assurance of lib- 
erty to tender consciences, and that no man should be 
disquieted, or called in question for difference of opinion 
in matters of religion, who did not disturb the peace of 
the kingdom. Upon this assurance dissenters of all 
sorts relied, and held themselves secure. But now, by 
this frantic action of a few hot-brained men, the king 
was by some held discharged from his royal word and 
promise, in his foregoing declaration publicly given. 
And hereupon letters were intercepted and broken 
open, for discovery of suspected plots and designs 



242 . THE LIFE OF 

against the government; and not only dissenters' 
meetings, of all sorts, without distinction, were dis- 
turbed, but very many were imprisoned in most partu 
throughout the nation ; and great search there was, 
in all counties, for suspected persons, who, if not 
found at meetings, were fetched in from their own 
houses. 

The Lord Lieutenant (so called) of Oxfordshire had 
on this occasion taken Thomas Loe and many other 
of our friends at a meeting, and sent them prisoners 
to Oxford Castle, just before my letter was brought to 
his hand, wherein I had invited Thomas Loe to a 
meeting, and he, putting the worst construction upon 
it, as if I (a poor simple lad) had intended a seditious 
meeting, in order to raise rebellion, ordered two of the 
deputy lieutenants, who lived nearest to me, to send a 
party of horse to fetch me in. 

Accordingly, whUe I, wholly ignorant of what had 
passed at Oxford, was in daily expectation of an 
agreeable answer to my letter, came a party of horse 
one morning to my father's gate and asked for me. 
It so fell out that my father was at that time from 
home, I think in London ; whereupon he that com- 
manded the party alighted and came in. My eldest 
sister, hearing the noise of soldiers, came hastily up 
into my chamber, and told me there were soldiers be- 
low, who inquired for me. I forthwith went down to 
them, and found the commander was a barber of 
Thame, and one who had always been my barber till 
I was a Quaker. His name was Whately, a bold 
brisk fellow. 

I asked him what his business was with me : he 
told me I must go with him. I demanded to see his 
warrant : he laid his hand on his sword, and said that 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 243 

Was his wairant. I told him, though that was not a 
legal warrant, yet I would not dispute it, but was 
ready to hear injuries. He told me he could not help 
it, he was commanded to bring me forthwith before the 
deputy lieutenants, and therefore desired me to order a 
horse to be got ready, because he was in haste. I let 
him know I had no horse of my own, and would not 
meddle with any of my father's horses, in his absence 
especially; and that therefore, if he would have me 
Mdth him, he must carry me as he could. He there- 
upon, taking my sister aside, told her he found I M^as 
resolute, and his orders were peremptory ; wherefore he 
desired that she would give orders for a horse to be got 
ready for me, for otherwise he should be forced to mount 
me behind a trooper, which would be very unsuitable 
for me, and which he was very unwilling to do. She 
thereupon ordered a horse to be got ready, upon which, 
when I had taken leave of my sisters, I mounted, and 
went off, not knowing whither he intended to carry me. 

He had orders, it seems, to take some others also in 
a neighboring village, whose names he had, but their 
houses he did not know. Wherefore, as we rode, he 
asked me if I knew such and such men, whom he named, 
and where they lived ; and when he understood that I 
knew them, he desired me to show him their houses. 
'' No," said I, '^I scorn to be an informer against my 
neighbors, to bring them into trouble." He thereupon, 
riding to and fro, found by inquiry most of their houses ; 
but, as it happened, found none of them at home, at 
which I was glad. 

At length he brought me to the house of one called 
Esquire Clark, of Weston, by Thame, who, being after- 
M^ards knighted, was called Sir John Clark; a jolly 
man, too much addicted to drinking in soberer times, 



244 THE LIFE OF 

but was now grown more licentious that way, as the 
times did now more favor dehaucliery. He and I had 
known one another for some years, though not very 
intimately, having met sometimes at the Lord Wen- 
man's table. This Clark was one of the deputy-lieu- 
tenants, whom I was brought befure. And he had 
gotten another thither to join with him in tendering me 
the oaths, whom I knew only by name and character ; 
and who was called Esquire Knowls, of Grays, by 
Henley, and reputed a man of better morals than the 
other. 

I was brought into the hall, and kept there ; and as 
Quakers were not so common then as they now are 
(and indeed even yet, the more is the pity, they are not 
common in that part of the country), I was made a 
spectacle and gazing-stock to the family, and by divers 
I was diversely set upon. Some spake to me courte- 
ously, with appearance of compassion ; others ruggedly, 
with evident tokens of wrath and scorn. But though 
I gave them the hearing of what they said, which I 
could not well avoid, yet I said little to them ', but, 
keeping my mind as well retired as I could, I breathed 
to the Lord for help and strength from him to bear me 
up and carry me through this trial, that I might not 
sink under it, or be prevailed on by any means, fair or 
foul, to do anything that might dishonor or displease 
my God. 

At length came forth the justices themselves (for 
so they were, as well as lieutenants), and after they 
had saluted me, they discoursed with me pretty famil- 
iarly ; and though Clark would sometimes be a little 
jocular and waggish, which was somewhat natural to 
him, yet Knowls treated me very civilly, not seeming 
to take any offence at my not standing bare before 



THt3MAS ELLWOOD. 245 

him. And when a young priest, who, as I understood, 
was chaplain to the family, took upon him pragmati- 
cally to reprove me for standing with my hat on be- 
fore the magistrates, and snatched my cap from off my 
head, Knowls, in a pleasant manner, corrected him, 
telling him he mistook himself, in taking a cap for a 
hat (for mine M'as a mountier-cap), and bid him give 
it me again ; which he, though unwillingly, doing, I 
forthwith put it on my head again, and thenceforward 
none meddled with me about it. 

Then they began to examine me, putting divers 
questions to me relating to the present disturbances in 
the nation, occasioned by the late foolish insurrection 
of those frantic Fifth-monarchy men. To all which 
I readily answered, according to the simplicity of my 
heart, and innocency of my hands ; for I had neither 
done nor thought any evil against the government. 
But they endeavored to aifright me with threats of 
danger, telling me, with innuendoes, that for all my 
pretence to innocency, there was a high matter against 
me, which, if I would stand out, would be brought 
forth, and that under my own hand. I knew not what 
they meant by this ; but I knew my innocency, and 
kept to it. 

At length, when they saw I regarded not their threats 
in general, they asked me if I knew one Thomas Loe, 
and had written of late to him. I then remembered 
my letter, which till then I had not thought of, and 
thereupon frankly told them that I did both know 
Thomas Loe, and had lately M^-itten to him ; but that 
as I knew I had written no hurt, so I did not fear any 
danger from that letter. They shook their heads, and 
said, '' It was dangerous to write letters to appoint 
meetings in such troublesome times." They added, 



24B THE LIFE OF '" 

that by appointing a meeting, and endeavoring to 
gather a concourse of people together, in such a junc- 
ture especially as this was, I had rendered myself a 
dangerous person ; and, therefore, they could do no less 
than tender me the oaths of allegiance and supremacy, 
which therefore they required me to take. 

I told them, if I could take an oath at all, I would 
take the oath of allegiance, for I owed allegiance to the 
king. But 1 durst not take any oath, because my lord 
and master, Jesus Christ, had commanded me not to 
swear at all ; and if I brake his command, I should 
both dishonor and displease him. 

Hereupon they undertook to reason with me, and 
used many words to persuade me that that command 
of Christ related only to common and profane swearing, 
not to swearing before a magistrate. I heard them, 
and saw the weakness of their arguings, but did not 
return them any answer ; for I found my present busi- 
ness was not to dispute, but to suflPer ; and that it was 
not safe for me, in this my weak and cliildish state 
especially, to enter into reasonings with sharp, quick, 
witty, and learned men, lest I might thereby hurt both 
the cause of truth, which I was to bear witness to, and 
myself: therefore I chose rather to be a fool, and let 
them triumph over me, than by my weakness give 
them advantage to triumph over the truth. And my 
spirit being closely exercised in a deep travail towards 
the Lord, I earnestly begged of him that he would be 
pleased to keep me faithful to the testimony he had 
committed to me, and not suffer me to be taken in any 
of the snares which the enemy laid for me. And, 
blessed be his holy name, he heard my cries, and 
preserved me out of them. 

When the justices saw they could not bow me to 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 247 

tlieir wills, they told me they must send me to prison. 
I told them I was contented to suffer whatsoever the 
Lord should suffer them to inflict upon me. Where- 
upon they withdrew into the parlor, to consult to- 
gether what to do with me, leaving me meanvvhile to 
he gazed on in the hall. After a pretty long stay they 
came forth to me again with great show of kindness, 
telling me they were very unwilling to send me to 
jail, but would be as favorable to me as possibly 
they could ; and that if I would take the oaths, they 
would pass by all the other matter which they had 
against me. I told them I knew they could not justly 
have anything against me ; for I had neither done nor 
iutended anything against the government or against 
them. And as to the oaths, I assured them that my 
refusing them was merely a matter of conscience to me, 
and that I durst not take any oath whatsoever, if it 
were to save my life. 

When they heard this they left me again, and went 
and signed a mittimus to send me to prison at Oxford, 
and charged one of the troopers that hrought me 
thither, who was one of the newly raised militia troop, 
to convey me safe to Oxford. But before we departed 
they called the trooper aside, and gave him private 
instructions what he should do with me; which I 
knew nothing of till I came thither, but expected I 
should go directly to the castle. 

It was almost dark when we took horse, and we 
had about nine or ten miles to ride, the weather thick 
and cold (for it was about the beginning of the twelfth 
month), and I had no boots, heing snatched away 
from home on a sudden, which made me not care to 
ride very fast. And my guard, who was a tradesman, 
in Thame, having confidence in me that I would not 



248 THE LIFE OF 

give him the slip, jogged on without heeding how I 
followed him. 

When I was gone about a mile on the way, I over- 
took my father's man, who, without my knowledge, 
had followed me at a distance to Weston, and waited 
there abroad in the stables, till he understood by some 
of the servants that I was to go to Oxford ; and then 
ran before, resolving not to leave me till he saw what 
they would do with me. I would have had him re- 
turn home, but he desired me not to send him back, 
but let him run on till I came to Oxford. I con- 
sidered that it was a token of the fellow's affectionate 
kindness to me, and that possibly I might send my 
horse home by him : and thereupon stopping my horse, 
I bid him, if he would go on, get up behind me. Ho 
modestly refused, telling me he could run as fast as I 
rode. But when I told him if he would not ride he 
should not go forward, he, rather than leave me, 
leaped up behind me, and on we went. 

But he was not willing I should have gone at all. 
He had a great cudgel in his hand, and a strong arm 
to use it; and, being a stout fellow, he had a great 
mind to fight the trooper, and rescue me. Where- 
fore he desired me to turn my horse and ride off; and 
if the trooper offered to pursue, leave him to deal with 
him. I checked him sharply for that, and charged 
him to be quiet, and not think hardly of the poor 
trooper, who could do no other nor less than he did ; 
and who, though he had an ill journey in going with 
me, carried himself civilly to me. I told him also that 
I had no need to fly, for I had done nothing that would 
bring guilt or fear upon me ; neither did I go with an 
ill will ; and this quieted the man. So on wc went ; 
but were so far cast behind the trooper, that wc had 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 249 

lost both sight and hearing of him, and I was fain to 
mend my pace to get up to him again. 

We came pretty late into Oxfjrd on the seventh 
day of the week, which was the market day ; and 
contrary to my expectation, which was to have been 
carried to the castle, my trooper stopped in the High 
Street, and, calling at a shop, asked for the master of 
the house; who, coming to the door, he delivered to 
him the mittimus, and with it a letter from the deputy- 
lieutenants, or one of them, which, when he had read, 
he asked where the prisoner was. Whereupon the 
soldier pointing to me, he desired me to alight and 
come in ; which when I did, he received me civilly. 
The trooper, being discharged of his prisoner, marched 
back, and my father's man, seeing me settled in better 
quarters than he expected, mounted my horse, and 
went off with him. 

I did not presently understand the quality of my 
keeper, but I found him a genteel, courteous man, 
by trade a linen-draper ; and, as I afterguards under- 
stood, he was city-marshal, had a command in the 
county troop, and was a person of good repute in the 
place : his name was Galloway. 

Whether I was committed to him out of regard to 
my father, that I might not be thrust into a common 
jail, or out of politic design, to keep me from the con- 
versation of my friends, in hopes that I might be drawn 
to abandon this profession which I had but lately taken 
up, I do not know. But this I know, that though I 
wanted no civil treatment, nor kind accommodations 
where I was, yet after once I understood that many 
Friends were prisoners in the castle, and amongst the 
rest Thomas Loe, I had much rather have been 
amongst them there, mth all the inconveniences they 



250 • THE LIFE OF 

underwent, than where I was, with the best entertain- 
ment. But this was my present lot, and therefore with 
this I endeavored to be content. 

' It was quickly known in the city that a Quaker was 
brought in prisoner and committed to the marshiil. 
Whereupon, the men Friends being generally prisoners 
already in the castle, some of the women Friends camo 
to inquire after me, and to visit me; as Silas ^Norton's 
wife, and Thomas Loe's wife, who were sisters, and 
another woman Friend, who lived in the same street 
where I was, whose husband was not a Quaker, but 
kindly affected towards them, a baker by trade, and his 
name, as I remember, Ryland. 

Although my marshal-keeper was very kind to me, 
and allowed me the liberty of his house, yet he was not 
willing I should be seen abroad ; the rather, perhaps, 
because he understood I had been pretty well known in 
that city. Yet once the friendly baker got him to let 
me step over to his house ; and once, and but once, I 
prevailed with him to let me visit my friends in the cas- 
tle ; but it was with these conditions, that I should not 
go forth till it was dark, that I would muffle myself up 
in my cloak, and that I would not stay out late : all 
wliich I punctually observed. 

When I came thither, though there were many 
Friends prisoners, I scarcely knew one of them by face, 
except Thomas Loe, whom I had once seen at Isaac 
Penington's ; nor did any of them know me, though 
they had generally heard that such a young man as I 
was convinced of the truth, and come among Friends. 
Our salutation to each other was very grave and 
solemn ; nor did we entertain one another M^lh. much 
talk; or with common discourses ; but most of the little 
time I had with them was spent in a silent retiredness 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 251 

of spirit, waiting upon the Lord. Yet, before we parted, 
we imparted one to another some of the exercises we 
had gone through ; and they seeming willing to under- 
stand the ground and manner of my commitment, I 
gave a brief account thereof, letting Th(nnas Loe mt)re 
particularly know that I had directed a letter to him, 
which, having fallen into the hand of the lord lieu- 
tenant, was, so far as I could learn, the immediate 
cause of my being taken up. 

Having stayed with them as long as my limited time 
would permit, which I thought was but very short, that 
I might keep touch with my keeper, and come home 
in due time, I took leave of my friends there, and with 
mutual embraces parting, returned to my (in some sense 
more easy, but in others less easy) prison, where, after 
this, I stayed not long before I was brought back to 
my father's house. For after my father was come home^ 
who, as I observed before, was from home when I was 
taken, he applied himself to those justices that had 
committed me, and, not having disobliged • them when 
he was in office, easily obtained to have me sent home, 
which between him and them was thus contrived. 

There was about this time a general muster and 
training of the militia forces at Oxford, whither, on 
that occasion, came the lord-lieutenant and deputy- 
lieutenants of the county, of which number they who 
committed me were two. When they had been awhile 
together and the marshal with them, he stepped sud- 
denly in, and in haste told me I must get ready quickly 
to go out of toAvn, and that a soldier would come by 
and by to go with me. This said, he hastened to them 
again, not giving me any intimation how I was to go, 
or whither. i 

I needed not much time to get ready in ; but I was 



252 THE LIFE OF 

uneasy in thinking what the Friends of the town would 
think of this my sudden and private removal ; and I 
feaied lest any report should be raised that I had pur- 
chased my liberty by an unfaithful compliance. Where- 
fore I was in care how to speak with some Friend 
about it; and that friendly baker, whose wife was a 
Friend, living on the other side of the street at a little 
distance, I went out at a back door, intending to step 
over the way to their house, and return immediately. 

It so fell out that some of the lieutenants, of whom 
Esquire Clark, who committed me, was one, were stand- 
ing in the balcony at a great inn or tavern, just over 
the place where I was to go by ; and he spying me, 
called out to the soldiers, who stood thick in the street, 
to stop me. They being generally gentlemen's ser- 
vants, and many of them knowing me, did civilly for- 
bear to lay hold on me, but, calling modestly after me, 
said, ''Stay, sir, stay; pray come back." I heard, but 
was not willing to hear, therefore rather mended my 
pace, that I might get within the door. But he call- 
ing earnestly after me, and charging them to stop me, 
some of them were fain to run, and, laying hold on me 
before I could open the door, brought me back to my 
place again. Being thus disappointed, I took a pen 
and ink and wrote a few lines, which I sealed up and 
gave to the apprentice in the shop, who had carried 
himself handsomely towards me, and desired him to 
deliver it to that Friend who was their neighbor; which 
he promised to do. 

By that tirne I had done this, came the soldier that 
was appointed to conduct me out of town. I knew the 
man, for he lived within a mile of me, being through 
poverty reduced to keep an alehouse ; but he had lived 
in better fashion, having -kept an inn at Thame, and 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 253 

by that means knew how to behave himself civilly, 
and did so to me. He told me he was ordered to wait 
on me to Wheatley, and to tarry there at such an inn 
until Esquire Clark came thither, who would then take 
me home with him in his coach. Accordingly to 
Wheatley we walked, which is from Oxford some four 
or five miles, and long we had not been there before 
Clark and a great company of rude men came in. 
He alighted, and stayed awhile to eat and drink, thougli 
he came but from Oxford, and invited me to eat with 
him ; but I, though I had need enough, refused it ; for 
indeed their conversation was a burden to my life, and 
made me often think of and pity good Lot. 

He seemed, at that time, to be in a sort of mixed 
temper, between pleasantness and sourness. He would 
sometimes joke, which was natural to him, and cast 
out a jesting flirt at me ; but he would rail maliciously 
against the Quakers. ^' If," said he to me, '^ the king 
would authorize me to do it, I would not leave a 
Quaker alive in England, except you. I would make 
no more," added he, '■'■ to set my pistol to their ears, 
and shoot them through the head, than I would to Idll 
a dog." I told him I was sorry he had so ill an opin- 
ion of the Quakers, but I was glad he had no cause for 
it, and I hoped he would be of a better mind. I had 
in my hand a Httle walking-stick, with a head on it, 
which he commended, and took out of my hand to look 
on it ) but I saw his intention was to search it, whether 
it had a tuck in it, for he tried to draw the head ; but 
when he found it was fast, he returned it to me. 

He told me I should ride with him to his house in 
his coach, which was nothing pleasant to me ; for I had 
rather have gone on foot, as bad as the ways were, that 
I might have been out of his company. Wherefore I 



254 THE LIFE OF 

took no notice of any kindness in the offer, but only 
answered I was at his disposal, not mine own. But 
when we Avere ready to go, the marshal came to me, 
and told me if I pleased I should ride his horse, and he 
would go in the coach with Mr. Clark. I was glad of 
the offer, and only told him he should take out his 
pistols then, for I would not ride with them. He took 
them out, and laid them in the coach hy him, and 
away we went. 

It M^as a very fine beast that I was set on, by much 
the best in the company. But though she was very 
tall, yet, the ways being very foul, I found it needful, 
as soon as I was out of town, to alight and take up 
the stirrups. Meanwhile, they driving hard on, I M'as 
so far behind, that being at length missed by the com- 
pany, a soldier was sent back to look after me. As 
soon as I had fitted my stin-ups, and was remounted, 
I gave the rein to my mare, which, being courageous 
and nimble, and impatient of delay, made great speed 
to recover the company. And in a narrow passage 
the soldier (who was my barber that had fetched ine 
from home) and I met upon so brisk a gallop that we 
had enough to do on either side to take up our horses 
and avoid a brush. 

When we were come to Weston, where Esquire 
Clark lived, he took the marshal, and some others 
with him, into the parlor ; but I was left in the hall, 
to be exposed a second time for the family to gaze on. 
At length himself came out to me, leading in his hand 
a beloved daughter of his, a young woman of about 
eighteen years of age, who wanted nothing to make 
her comely but gravity. An airy piece she was, and 
very merry she made herself at me. After they had 
made themselves as much sport with me as they would,- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 255 

the marshal took his leave of them, and mounting me 
on a horse of Clark's, had me home to my father's that 
night. 

Next morning, before the marshal went away, my 
father and he consulted together how to entangle me. 
I felt there were snares laid, hut I did not know in 
what manner or to what end till the marshal was 
ready to go. And then, coming where I was to take 
his leave of me, he desired me to take notice that 
although he had brought me home to my father's 
house again, yet I was not discharged from my im- 
prisonment, but was his prisoner still ; and that he had 
committed me to the care of my father, to see me forth- 
coming whenever I should be called far. And therefore 
he expected I should in all things observe my father's 
orders, and not go out at anytime from the house with- 
out his leave. 

Now I plainly saw the snare, and to what end it was 
laid : and I asked him if this device was not contrived 
to keep me from going to meetings ; he said, I must 
not go to meetings. Whereupon I desired him to take 
notice that I would not own myself a prisoner to any 
man while I continued here. That if he had power 
to detain me prisoner, he might take me back again 
with him if he would, and I should not refuse to go 
with him. But I bid him assure himself, that while 
I was at home, I would take my liberty both to go to 
meetings, and to visit friends. He smiled and said, 
if I would be resolute he could not help it; and so 
took his leave of me. By this I perceived that the 
plot was of my father's laying, to bring me under such 
an engagement as should tie me from going to meet- 
ings ; and thereupon I expected I should have a new 
exercise from my father. 



256 THE LIFE OF 

It was the constant manner of my father to have f^ll 
the keys of the outer doors of his house (which were 
four, and those Hnked upon a chain) brought up into 
his chamber every night, and fetched out from thence 
in the morning ; so that none could come in or go out 
in the night M'ithout his knowledge. I, knowing this, 
suspected that if I got not out before my father came 
down, I should be stopped from going out at aU that 
day. Wherefore the passage from my chamber lying 
by his chamber door, I went down softly without my 
shoes, and as soon as the maid had opened the door, I 
went out, though too early, and walked towards the 
meeting at Meadle, four long miles off. 

I expected to be tallied with about it when I came 
home, but heard nothing of it, my father resolving to 
watch me better next time. This I was aware of; and 
therefore on the next first-day I got up early, went 
down softly, and hid myself in a back room before the 
maid was stirring. When she was up, she went into 
my father's chamber for the keys ; but he bid her leave 
them till he was up, and he would bring them down 
himself; which he did, and tarried in the kitchen, 
through which he expected I would go. The mauner 
was, that when the common doors were opened, the 
keys were hung upon a pin in the hall. While there- 
fore my father stayed in the kitchen expecting my 
coming, I, stepping gently out of the room where I 
was, reached the keys, and, opening another door not 
often used, slipped out, and so got away. 

.1 thought I had gone off undiscovered : but whether 
my father saw me through a window, or by what means 
he knew of my going, I know not ; but I had gone but 
a little way before I saw him coming after me. The 
sight of him put me to a stand in my mind whether I 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 257 

should go on or stop. Had it been in any other case 
than that of going to a meeting, I could not in any- 
wise have gone a step farther. But I considered that 
the intent of my father's endeavoring to stop me was 
to hinder me from obeying the call of my Heavenly 
Father, and to stop me from going to worship him in 
the assembly of his people ; upon this I found it my 
duty to go on, and observing that my father gained 
ground upon me, I somewhat mended my pace. TMs 
he, observing, mended his pace also, and at length ran. 
Whereupon I ran also, and a fair course we had 
through a large meadow of his, which lay behind his 
house, and out of sight of the town. He was not, I 
suppose, then above fifty years of age, and being light 
of body and nimble of foot, he held me to it for a 
while. But afterwards slackening his pace to take 
breath, and observing that I had gotten ground of him, 
he turned back and went home ; and, as I afterwards 
understood, telling my sisters how I had served him, he 
said: ^' Nay, if he will take so much pains to go, let 
him go if he will." And from that time forward he 
never attempted to stop me, but left me to my liberty, 
to go when and whither I would ; yet kept me at the 
usual distance, avoiding the sight of uie as much as he 
could, as not able to bear the sight of my hat on, nor 
willing to contend with me again about it. 

Nor was it long after this before I was left not only 
to myself, but in a manner by myself. For the time 
appointed for the coronation of the king (which was 
the 23d of the fourth month, called April) drawing 
on, my father, taking my two sisters with him, went 
up to London some time before, that they might be 
there in readiness, and put themselves into a condi- 
tion to see that so great a solemnity ; leaving nobody 



258 THE LIFE OF 

in the house but myself and a couple of servants. 
And though this was intended only for a visit on that 
occasion, yet it proved the breaking of the family ; for 
he bestowed both his daughters there in marriage, and 
took lodgings for himself, so that afterwards they never 
returned to settle at Crowell. 

Being now at liberty, I walked over to Aylesbury, 
with some other Friends, to visit my dear friend Isaac 
Penington, who was still a prisoner there. With him 
I found dear John Whitehead, and between sixty and 
seventy more, being wellnigh all the men Friends 
that were then in the county of Bucks; many of 
them were' taken out of their houses by armed men, 
and sent to prison, as I had been, for refusing to swear. 
Most of these were thrust into an old room behind the 
jail, which had anciently been a malt-house, but was 
now decayed, that it was scarce fit for a dog-house. 
And so open it lay, that the prisoners might have gone 
out at pleasure. But these were purposely put there, 
in confidence that they would not go out, that there 
might be room in the prison for others, of other pro- 
fessions and namesy whom the jailer did not trust 
there. 

While this imprisonment lasted, which was for some 
months, I went afterwards thither sometimes to visit 
my suffering brethren; and because it was a pretty 
long way (some eight or nine miles, too far to be 
walked forward and backward in one day), I some- 
times stayed a day or two there, and lay in the malt- 
house among my friends, with whom I delighted to 
be. 

After this imprisonment was over, I went sometimes 
to Isaac Penington's house at Chalfont, to visit that 
family, and the Friends thereabouts. There was then 



THOMA.S ELL WOOD. 259 

a meeting, for the most part, twice a week in his 
house; but one first-day in four there was a more 
general meeting, which was thence called the Monthly 
Meeting, to which resorted most of the Friends of 
other adjacent meetings ; and to that I usually went, 
and sometimes made some stay there. 

Here I became acquainted with a Friend, of London, 
whose name was Richard Greenaway, by trade a tailor, 
a very honest man, and one who had received a gift for 
the ministry. He, having been formerly in other pro- 
fessions of religion, had then been acquainted with one 
John Ovy, of Watlington, in Oxfordshire, a man of 
some note among the professors there; and under- 
standing, upon inquiry, that I knew him, he had some 
discourse with me about him. The result whereof 
was, that he, having an intention then shortly to visit 
some meetings of Friends in this county, and the ad- 
joining parts of Oxfordshire and Berkshire, invited me 
to meet him, upon notice given, and to bear him com- 
pany in that journey ; and in the way bring him to 
John Ovy's house, with whom I was well acquainted, 
which I did. 

This visit gave John Ovy an opportunity to inquire 
of me after Isaac Penington, whose writings (those 
which he had written before he came among Friends) 
he had read, and had a great esteem of; and he ex- 
pressed a desire to see him, that he might have some 
discourse with him, if he knew how. Whereupon I 
told him, that if he would take the pains to go to his 
house, I would bear him company thither, introduce 
him, and engage he should have a kind reception. 
This pleased him much ; and he embracing the offer, 
I undertook to give him notice of a suitable time, 
which (after I had gone this little journey with my 



260 THE LIFE OF 

friend Richard Greenaway, and was returned) I did, 
making choice of the Monthly Meeting to go to. 

We met by appointment at Stoken Church, with 
our staves in our hands, like a couple of pilgrims, in- 
tending to walk on foot, and, having taken some re- 
freshment and rest at Wycombe, went on cheerfully 
in the afternoon, entertaining each other with grave 
and religious discourse, which made the walk the 
easier; and so reached thither in good time, on the 
seventh day of the week. 

My friends received me in affectionate kindness, and 
my companion with courteous civility. The evening 
was spent in common but grave conversation; for it 
was not a proper season for private discourse, both 
as we were somewhat weary with our walk, and there 
were other companies of Friends come into the family, 
to be at the meeting next day. But in the morning I 
took John Ovy into a private walk, in a pleasant 
grove near the house, whither Isaac Penington came 
to us ; and there, in discourse, both answered all his 
questions, objections, and doubts, and ojDened to him 
the principles of truth, to both his admiration and 
present satisfaction. Which done, w^e went in to take 
some refreshment before the meeting began. 

Of those friends who were come over night, in or- 
der to be at the meeting, there were Isaac's brother, 
William Penington, a merchant of London, and with 
him a Friend whose name I have forgotten, a grocer, 
of Colchester, in Essex ; and there was also our fi'iend 
George Whitehead, whom I had not, that I remem- 
ber, seen before. 

The nation had been in a fennent ever since that 
mad action of the frantic Fifth -monarchy men, and 
was not yet settled ; but storms, like thunder-showers, 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 261 

flew here and there by coast, so that we could not 
promise ourselves any safety or quiet in our meetings. 
And though they had escaped disturbance for some 
little time before, yet so it fell out, that a party of 
horse were appointed to come and break up the meet- 
ing that day, though we knew nothing of it till we 
heard and saw them. 

The meeting was scarcely fully gathered when they 
came. But we that were in the family, and many 
others, M^ere settled in it in great peace and stillness, 
when on a sudden the prancing of the horses gave 
notice that a disturbance was at hand. We all sat still 
in our places, except my companion John Ovy, wlio sat 
next to me. But he being of a profession that ap- 
proved Peter's ad^dce to his Lord, '^ to save himself," 
soon took the alarm, and with the nimbleness of a 
stripling, cutting a caper over the form that stood be- 
fore him, ran quickly out at a private door which he 
had before observed, which led through the parlor into 
the gardens, and from thence into an orchard, where 
he hid himself in a place so obscure, and Mdthal so con- 
venient for his intelligence by observation of what 
passed, that any one of the family could scarce have 
•found a likelier. 

By that time he was got into a burrow, came the 
soldiers in, being a party of the county troop, com- 
manded by Matthew Archdale, of Wycombe. He 
behaved himself civilly, and said he was commanded 
to break up the meeting, and carry the men before a 
justice of the peace ; but he said he would not take 
all ; and thereupon began to pick and choose, chiefly 
as Ms eye guided him, for I suppose he knew very few. 
He took Isaac Penington and his brother, George 
AYhitehead, and the Friend of Colchester, and me, with 



262 THE LIFE OF 

three or four more of the county, who belonged to that 
meeting. He was not fond of the work, and that made 
hun take no more. But he must take some, he said, 
and bid us provide to go with him before Sir William 
Boyer, of Denham, who was a justice of the peace. 
Isaac Penington, being but weakly, rode, but the rest 
of us walked thither, it being about four miles. 

When we came there, the justice carried himself 
civilly to us all, courteously to Isaac Penington, as 
being a gentleman of his neighborhood ; and there -w^as 
nothing charged against us, but that we were met 
together without word or deed. Yet this being contrary 
to a late proclamation, given forth upon the rising of 
the Fifth-monarchy men, whereby all dissenters' meet- 
ings were forbidden, the justice could do no less than 
take notice of us. Wherefore he examined all of us 
whom he did not personally know, asking our names, 
and the places of our respective habitations. But when 
he had them, and considered from what distant parts 
of the nation we came, he was amazed. For George 
Whitehead was of Westmoreland, in the North of Eng- 
land ; the grocer was of Essex ; I was of Oxfordshire; 
and William Penington was of London. Hereupon 
he told us that our case looked ill, and he was sorry 
for it. '' For how," said he, " can it be imagined that 
so many could jump altogether at one time and place, 
from such remote quarters and paits of the kingdom, 
if it was not by combination and appointment f " 

He was answered, that we were so far from coming 
thither by agreement or appointment, that none of us 
knew of the others' coming; and, for the most of us, 
we had never seen one another before ; and that there- 
fore he might impute it to chance, or, if he pleased, to 
Providence, 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 263 

He urged upon us, that an insurrection had been 
lately made by armed men, who pretended to be more 
religious than others ; that that insurrection had been 
plotted and contrived in their meeting-house, where 
they assembled under color of worshipping God ; that 
in their meeting-house they hid their arms, and anned 
themselves, and out of their meeting-house issued forth 
in arms, and killed many ; so that the government 
could not be safe, unless such meetings were suppressed. 
We replied, we hoped he would distinguish and make 
a difference between the guilty and the innocent, and 
between those who were principled for fighting and 
those who were principled against it, which we were, 
and had been always known to be so. That our meet- 
ings were public, our doors standing open to all comers, 
of all ages, sexes, and persuasions; men, women, and 
children, and those that were not of our religion, as 
well as those that were ; and that it was next to mad- 
ness for people to plot in such meetings. 

He told us we must find sureties for our good be- 
havior, and to answer our contempt of the king's 
proclamation at the next general quarter sessions ; or 
else he must commit us. We told him, that knowing 
our innocency, and that we had not misbehaved our- 
selves, nor did meet in contempt of the king's author- 
ity, but purely in obedience to the Lord's requirings to 
worship him, which we held ourselves in duty bound 
to do, we could not consent to be bound, for that would 
imply guilt, which we were free from. '^ Then," said 
he, '' I must commit you"; and ordered his clerk to 
make a mittimus. And divers mittimuses were made, 
but none of them would hold; for still, when they 
came to be read, we found such flaws in them as made 
him throw them aside and write more. 



264 THE LIFE OF 

He had his eye often upon me, for I was a young 
man, and had at that time a black suit on. At length 
he hid me follow him, and went into a private room, 
and shut the door upon me. I knew not what he 
meant hy this ; hut I cried in spirit to the Lord, that 
he would he pleased to he a mouth and wisdom to me, 
and keep me from heing entangled in any snare. He 
asked me many questions concerning my hirth, my 
education, my acquaintance in Oxfordshire, particu- 
larly what men of note I knew there. To all which I 
gave him brief, but plain and true answers, naming 
several families of the best rank in that part of the 
country where I dwelt. He asked me how long I had 
been of this way, and how I came to be of it. Which 
when I had given him some account of, he began to 
persuade me to leave it and return to tlie right way, 
the church, as he called it. I desired him to spare his 
pains in that respect, and forbear any discourse of that 
kind, for that I was fully satisfied the M^ay I was in 
was the right way, and hoped the Lord would so pre- 
serve me in it that nothing should be able to draw or 
drive me out of it. He seemed not pleased with that, 
and thereupon went out to the rest of the company, 
and I followed him, glad in my heart that I had es- 
caped so well, and praising God for my deliverance. 

When he had taken his seat again at the upper end 
of a fair hall, he told us he was not willing to take the 
utmost rigor of the law against us, but would be as 
favorable to us as he could. And therefore he would 
discharge, he said, Mr. Penington himself, because he 
was at home in his own house. And he would discharge 
Mr. Penington of London, because he came but as a 
relation to visit his brother. And he would discharge 
the grocer of Colchester, because he came to bear Mr. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 265 

Penington of London company, and to be acquainted 
with Mr. Isaac Penington, whom he had never seen 
before. And as for those others of us who were of this 
county, he would discharge them, for the present at 
least, because they being his neighbors, he could send 
for them when he would. ^^ But as for you," said he 
to George Whitehead and me, '^ I can see no business 
you had there, and therefore I intend to hold you to it, 
either to give bail, or go to jail.'' 

We told him we could not give bail. '' Then," said 
he, '^ you must go to jail " ; and thereupon he began 
to write our mittimus, which puzzled him again. For 
he had discharged so many that he was at a loss what 
to lay as the ground of our commitment, whose case 
differed nothing in reality from theirs whom he had 
discharged. At length, having made divers draughts, 
which still George Whitehead showed him the defects 
of, he seemed to be weary of us ; and rising up said 
unto us : ''I consider that it is grown late in the day, 
so that the officer cannot carry you to Aylesbury to- 
night, and I suppose you will be willing to go back 
with Mr. Penington ; therefore, if you will be forth- 
coming at his house to-morrow morning, I will dismiss 
you for the present, and you shall hear from me again 
to-morrow." We told him we did intend, if he did not 
othermse dispose of us, to spend that night with our 
friend Isaac Penington, and would, if the Lord gave us 
leave, be there in the morning, ready to answer his 
inquirings. Whereupon he dismissed us all, willing, 
as we thought, to be rid of us ; for he seemed not to 
be of an ill-temper, nor desirous to put us to trouble if 
he could help it. 

Back then we went to Isaac Penington's. But 
when we were come thither, the work we had 



266 THE LIFE OF 

with poor John Ovy ! He was so dejected in mind, 
so covered with shame and confusion of face for his 
cowardliness, that we had enough to do to pacify him 
towards himself. The place he had found out to shel- 
ter himself in was so commodiously contrived that 
undiscovered he could discern when the soldiers went 
off with us, and understand when the bustle was over 
and the coast clear. Whereupon he adventured to 
peep out of his hole, and in a while drew near by de- 
grees to the house again ; and finding all things quiet 
and still, he adventured to step within the doors, and 
found the Friends who were left behind peaceably set- 
tled in the meeting again. 

The sight of this smote him, and made him sit down 
among them. And after the meeting was ended, and 
the Friends departed to their several homes, addressing 
himself to Mary Penington, as the mistress of the 
house, he could not enough magnify the bravery and 
courage of the Friends, nor sufficiently debase himself. 
He told how long he had been a professor, what 
pains he had taken, what hazards he had run, in his 
youthful days, to get to meetings ; how, when the 
ways were forelaid, and passages stopped, he swam 
through rivers to reach a meeting : ''and now," said 
he, " that I am grown old in the profession of religion, 
and have long been an instructor and encourager of 
others, that I should thus shamefully fall short my- 
self is matter of shame and sorrow to me." Thus he 
bewailed himself to her. And when we came back, 
he renewed his complaints of himself to us, with high 
aggravations of his own cowardice ; which gave occa- 
sion to some of the fi'iends tenderly to represent to him 
the difference between profession and possession, form 
and power. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 267 

He was glad, he said, on our behalf, that we came 
off so well, and escaped imprisonment. But when he 
understood that George Whitehead and I were liable 
to an after-reckoning next morning, he was troubled, 
and wished the morning was come and gone, that we 
might be gone with it. 

We spent the evening in grave conversation, and 
in religious discourses, attributing the deliverance we 
hitherto had to the Lord. And the next morning, 
when we were up and had eaten, we tarried some 
time to see what the justice would do further with us, 
and to discharge our agreement to him ; the rest of 
the Friends, who were before fully discharged, tarry- 
ing also with us to see the event. And when we had 
stayed so long that on all hands it was concluded we 
might safely go, George Whitehead and I left a few 
words in writing to be sent to the justice, if he sent 
after us, importing that we had tarried till such an 
hour, and, hot hearing from him, did now hold our- 
selves free to depart ; yet, so as that if he should have 
occasion to send for us again, upon notice thereof we 
would return. 

This done, we took our leave of the family, and one 
of another ; they who were for London taking horse, 
and I and my companion, setting forth on foot for Ox- 
fordshire, went to Wycombe, where we made a short 
stay to rest and refresh ourselves, and from thence 
reached our respective homes that night. 

After I had spent some time at home, where, as I 
had no restraint, so, my sisters being gone, I had now 
no society, I walked up to Chalfont again and spent a 
few days with my friends there. 

As soon as I came in I was told that my father had 
been there that day to see Isaac Penington and his 



268 THE LIFE OF 

wife ', but they being abroad at a meeting, lie returned 
to his inn in the town, where he intended to lodge that 
night. After supper Mary Penington told me she had 
a mind to go and see him at his inn (the woman of 
the house being a friend of ours), and I went with 
her. He seemed somewhat surprised to see me there, 
because he thought I had been at home at his house ; 
but he took no notice of my hat, at least showed no 
offence at it ; for, as I afterwards understood, he had 
now an intention to sell his estate, and thought he 
should need my concurrence therein, which made him 
now hold it necessary to admit me again into some de- 
gree of favor. After we had tarried some little time 
with him, she rising up to be gone, he waited on her 
home, and, having spent about an hour with us in the 
family, I waited on him back to his inn. On the way 
he invited me to come up to London to see my sisters, 
the younger of whom was then newly married; and 
directed me where to find them, and also gave me 
money to defray my charges. Accordingly I went ; yet 
stayed not long there, but returned to my friend Isaac 
Penington's, where I made a little stay, and from thence 
went back to Crowell. 

When I was ready to set forth, my friend Isaac Pen- 
ington was so kind as to send a servant, with a couple 
of horses, to carry me as far as I thought fit to ride, 
and to bring the horses back. I, intending to go no 
farther that day than to Wycombe, rode no farther than 
to Beaconsfield town's end, having then but five miles to 
walk. But here a new exercise befell me, the manner 
of which was thus : — 

Before I had walked to the middle of the town, I 
was stopped and taken up by the watch. I asked the 
watchman what authority he had to stop me travel- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 269 

ling peaceably on the liigliway : lie told me he would 
show me his authority 5 and in order thereunto, had 
me into a house hard by, where dwelt a scrivener, 
Avhose name was Pepys. To him he gave the order 
which he had received irom the constable, which di- 
rected him to take up all rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy 
beggars. I asked him for which of these he stopped 
me, but he could not answer me. I thereupon informed 
him what a rogue in law is, viz. one who for some 
notorious offence was burnt on the shoulder, and I told 
them they might search me if they pleased, and see if I 
was so branded. A vagabond, I told them, was one 
that had no dwelling-house, nor certain place of abode ; 
but I had, and was going to it, and I told them where it 
was. And for a beggar^ I bid them bring any one that 
could say I had begged, or asked relief. 

Tliis stopped the fellow's mouth, yet he would not 
let me go; but, being both weak-headed and strong- 
willed, he left me there with the scrivener, and went 
out to seek the constable, and, having found him, 
brought him thither. He was a young man, by trade 
a tanner, somewhat better mannered than his wards- 
man, but not of much better judgment. He took me 
with him to his house ; and having settled me there, 
went out to take advice, as I supposed, what to do 
with me, leaving nobody in the house to guard me but 
liis wife, who had a young child in her arms. 

She inquired of me upon what account I was taken 
up, and, seeming to have some pity for me, endeavored 
to persuade me not to stay, but to go my way, offer- 
ing to show me a back way from their house which 
would bring me into the road again beyond the town, 
so that none of the town should see me, or know what 
was become of me. But I told her I could not do so. 



270 THE LIFE OF 

Then having sat awhile in a muse, she asked me if 
there was not a place of Scripture which said Peter 
was at a tanner's house. I told her there was such a 
Scripture, and directed her where to find it. After some 
time she laid her child to sleep in a cradle, and stepped 
out on a sudden, but came not in again in a pretty- 
while. 

I was uneasy that I was left alone in the house, fear- 
ing lest if anything should be missing I might be sus- 
pected to have taken it ; yet I durst not go out to stand 
in the street, lest it should be thought I intended 
to slip away. But besides that, I soon found work to 
employ myself in ', for the child, quickly waking, fell 
to crying, and I was fain to rock the cradle in my own 
defence, that I might not be annoyed with a noise to 
me not more unpleasant than unusual. At length the 
woman came in again, and, finding me nursing the 
child, gave me many thanks, and seemed well pleased 
with my company. 

When night came on, the constable himself came in 
again, and told me some of the chief of the town were 
met together, to consider what was fit to do with me, 
and that I must go with him to them. I went, and 
he brought me to a little nasty hut, which they called 
a town-house, adjoining to their market-house, in 
which dwelt a poor old woman, whom they called 
Mother Grime, where also the watch used by turns to 
come in and warm themselves in the night. When I 
came in among them, they looked (some of them) 
somewhat sourly on me, and asked me some imper- 
tinent questions, to which I gave them suitable an- 
swers. Then they consulted one with another how 
they should dispose of me that night, till they could 
have me before some justice of peace to be examined. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 271 

Some proposed that I should be had to some inn, or 
other public house, and a guard set on me there. He 
that started this was probably an inn-keeper, and 
consulted his own interest. Others objected against 
this, that it would bring a charge on the town. To 
avoid which, they were for having the watch take 
charge of me, and keep me walking about the streets 
with them till morning. Most voices seemed to go 
this way ; till a third wished them to consider whether 
they could answer the doing of that, and the law 
would bear them out in it : and this put them to a 
stand. I heard all their debates, but let them alone, 
and kept my mind to the Lord. 

While they thus bandied the matter to and fro, one 
of the company asked the rest if any of them knew 
who this young man was, and whither he was going : 
whereupon the constable (to whom I* had given both 
my name and the name of the town where I dwelt) 
told them my name was Ellwood, and that I lived at 
a town called Crowell, in Oxfordshire. Old Mother 
Grime, sitting by and hearing this, clapped her hand 
on her knee, and cried out : '^ I know Mr. Ellwood of 
Crowell very well ; for when I was a maid I lived with 
his grandfather there, when he was a young man." 
And thereupon she gave them such an account of my 
father as made them look more regardfully on me ; 
and so Mother Glrime's testimony turned the scale, and 
took me off from walking the rounds with the watch 
that night. 

The constable hereupon bid them take no farther 
care, I should lie at his house that night ; and accord- 
ingly took me home with him, where I had as good 
accommodation as the house did afford. Before I went 
to bed, he told me that there was to be a visitation, or 



272 THE LIFE OF 

spiritual court (as he called it) holden next day at 
Amersliam, about four miles from Beaconsfield, and 
that I was to be can-ied thither. 

This was a new thing to me, and it brought a fresh 
exercise upon my mind. But being given up, in the 
will of God, to suflfer what he should permit to be laid 
on me, I endeavored to keep my mind quiet and still. 
In the morning, as soon as I was up, my spirit was 
exercised towards the Lord, in strong cries to him, that 
he would stand by me, and preserve me, and not suffer 
me to be taken in the snare of the wicked. While I 
was thus crying to the Lord, the other constable came, 
and I was called down. This was a budge felloM^, 
and talked high. He was a shoemaker by trade, and 
his name was Clark. He threatened me with the 
spiritual court. But when he saw I did not regard it, 
he stopped, and*left the matter to his partner, who 
pretended more kindness for me, and therefore went 
about to persuade Clark to let me go out at the back 
door, and so slip away. 

The plot, I suppose, was so laid that Clark should 
seem averse, but at length yield, which he did ; but 
would have me take it for a favor. But I was so far 
from taking it so, that I would not take it at all, but 
told them plainly, that as I came in at the fore door, 
so I would go out at the fore door. When, therefore, 
they saw they could not bow me to their will, they 
brought me out at the fore door into the street, and 
wished me a good journey. Yet before I went, calling 
for the M^oman of the house, I paid her for my supper 
and lodging, for 1 had now got a little money in my 
pocket again. 

After this I got home, as I thought very well, but I 
had not been long at home before an illness seized on 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 273 

me which proved to be the small-pox. Of which so 
soon as Friends had notice, I had a nurse sent me; and 
in a while Isaac Penington and his wife's daughter, 
Gulielma Maria Springett, to whom I had heen a 
playfellow in our infancy, came to visit me, bringing 
with them our dear friend Edward Bun'ough, by whose 
ministry I was called to the knowledge of the truth. 

It pleased the Lord to deal favorably with me in 
this illness, both inwardly and outwardly. For his 
supporting presence was with me, which kept my 
spirit near unto him ; and though the distemper was 
strong upon me, yet I was preserved through it, and 
my countenance was not much altered by it. But 
after I was got up again, and while I kept my cham- 
ber, wanting some employment for entertainment's 
sake, to spend the time with, and there being at hand 
a pretty good library of books, amongst which were 
the works of Augustine, and others of those ancient 
writers, who were by many called the fathers, I betook 
myself to reading. And these books being printed in 
the old black letter, with abbreviations of the words, 
difficult to be read, I spent too much time therein, 
and thereby much impaired my sight, which was not 
strong before, and was now weaker than usual by 
reason of the illness I had so newly had, which proved 
an injury to me afterwards ; for which reason I here 
mention it. 

After I was well enough to go abroad, with respect 
to my own health, and the safety of others, I went 
up, in the beginning of the twelfth month, 1661, to 
my friend Isaac Penington's, at Chalfont, and abode 
there some time, for the airing myself more fully, that 
I might be more fit for conversation. 

I mentioned before, that when I was a boy I had 



274 THE LIFE OF 

made some good progress in learning, and lost it all 
again before I came to be a man ; nor was I rightly 
sensible of my loss therein until I came amongst the 
Quakers. But then I both saw my loss and lamented 
it ; and applied myself with the utmost diligence, at all 
leisure times, to recover it ; so false I found that charge 
to be which in those times was cast as a reproach upon 
the Quakers, that they despised and decried all human 
learning, because they denied it to be essentially 
necessary to a gospel ministry, which was one of the 
controversies of those times. 

But though I toiled hard, and spared no pains to 
regain what once I had been master of, yet I found it 
a matter of so great difficulty, that I was ready to say, 
as the noble eunuch to Philip in another case, '^ How 
can I, unless I had some man to guide me f " This I 
had formerly complained of to my especial friend 
Isaac Penington, but now more earnestly, which put 
him upon considering and contriving a means for my 
assistance. He had an intimate acquaintance with 
Dr. Paget, a physician of note in London, and he with 
John Milton, a gentleman of great note for learning 
throughout the learned Avorld, for the accurate pieces 
he had written on various subjects and occasions. 
This person, having filled a public station in the for- 
mer times, lived now a private and retired life in 
London, and having wholly lost his sight, kept always 
a man to read to him, who usually was the son of 
some gentleman of his acquaintance, whom in kind- 
ness he took to improve in his learning. 

Thus, by the mediation of my friend Isaac Pening- 
ton with Dr. Paget, and Dr. Paget with John Milton, 
was I admitted to come to him, not as a servant to 
him (M^hich at that time he needed not), nor to be in 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 270 

the house with him, but only to have the liberty of 
coming to his house at certain hours when I would, and 
to read to him what books he should appoint me, 
which was all the favor I desired. But this being a 
matter which would require some time to bring it about, 
I, in the mean while, returned to my father's house in 
Oxfordshire. 

I had before received direction, by letters from my 
eldest sister, written by my father's command, to put 
off what cattle he had left about his house, and to dis- 
charge his servants ; which I had done at the time 
called Michaelmas before. So that all the winter, when 
I was at home, I lived like a hermit all alone, having 
a pretty large house and nobody in it but myself, at 
nights especially; but an elderly woman, whose father 
had been an old servant to the family, came every 
morning and made my bed, and did what else I had 
occasion for her to do, till I fell ill of the small-pox, and 
then I had her with me and the nurse. But now, un- 
derstanding by letter from my sister, that my fether 
did not intend to return to settle there, I made off those 
provisions which were in the house, that they might 
not be spoiled when I was gone ; and because they 
were what I should have spent if I had tarried there, I 
took the money made of them to myself for my sup- 
port at London, if the project succeeded for my going 
thither. 

This done, I committed the care of the house to a 
tenant of my father's who lived in the town, and, tak- 
ing my leave of Crowell, went up to my sure friend, 
Isaac Penington, again ; where, understanding that the 
mediation used for my admittance to John Milton had 
succeeded so well that I might come when I would, I 
hastened to London, and in the first place went to wait 



276 THE LIFE OF 

upon him. He received me courteously, as well for 
the sake of Dr. Paget, who introduced me, as of Isaac- 
Penington, who recommended me j tohoth of whom he 
bore a good respect. And having inquired divers things 
of me, with respect to my former progression in learn- 
ing, he dismissed me, to provide myself such accommo- 
dations as might he most suitable for my future studies. 
I went therefore and took myself a lodging as near to 
his house, which was then in Jewin Street, as con- 
veniently I could ; and from thenceforward went every 
day in the afternoon, except on the first days of the 
week, and sitting by him in his dining-room, read to 
him in such books in the Latin tongue as he pleased 
to hear me read. 

At my first sitting to read to him, observing that I 
used the English pronunciation, he told me if I would 
have the benefit of the Latin tongue, not only to read 
and understand Latin authors, but to converse with 
foreigners, either abroad or at home, I must learn the 
foreign pronunciation. To this I consenting, he in- 
structed me how to sound the vowels ; so different from 
the common pronunciation used by the English, who 
speak Anglice their Latin, that (with some few other 
variations in sounding some consonants in particular 
cases, as c before e or *', like ch; sc before i, like sh, etc. ) 
the Latin thus spoken seemed as different from that 
which was delivered as the English generally speak it, 
as if it were another language. 

I had before, during my retired life at my father's, 
by unwearied diligence and industry, so far recovered 
the rules of grammar, in which I had once been very 
ready, that I could both read a Latin author, and after 
a sort, hammer out his meaning. But this change of 
pronunciation proved a new difficulty to me. It was 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 277 

now harder to me to read, than it was before to under- 
stand when read. But 

" Labor omnia vincit 
Imp rob us." 

Incessant pains 
The end obtains. 

And so did I. Which made my reading the more 
acceptable to my master. He, on the other hand, 
perceiving with what earnest desire I pursued learn- 
ing, gave me not only all the encouragement, but all 
the help he could. For, having a curious ear, he un- 
derstood by my tone when I understood what I read 
and when I did not ; and accordingly would stop 
me, examine me, and open the most difficult passages 
to me. 

Thus went I on, for about six weeks' time, reading to 
him in the afternoons ; and, exercising myself with my 
own books in my chamber in the forenoons, I was sen- 
sible of an improvement. But alas ! I had fixed my 
studies in a wrong place. London and I could never 
agree for health ; my lungs, I suppose, were too tender 
to bear the sulphurous air of that city, so that I soon 
began to droop ; and in less than two months' time I 
was fain to leave both my studies and the city, and 
return into the country to preserve Hfe ; and much ado 
I had to get thither. 

I chose to go down to Wycombe, and to John 
Eaunce's house there ; both as he was a physician, and 
his wife an honest, hearty, discreet, and grave matron, 
whom I had a very good esteem of, and who I knew 
had a good regard for me. There I lay ill a consid- 
erable time, and to that degree of weakness, that 
scarcely any who saw me expected my hfe. But the 



278 THE LIFE OF 

Lord was botli gracious to me in my illness, and was 
pleased to raise me up again, that I might serve him 
in my generation. 

As soon as I had recovered so much strength as to 
be fit to travel, I obtained of my father (who was 
then at his house in Crowell, to dispose of some 
things he had there, and who in my illness had come to 
see me) so much money as would clear all charges in 
the house for both physic, food, and attendance ; and, 
having fully discharged all, I took leave of my friends 
in that family and in the town, and returned to my 
studies at London. I was very kindly received by my 
master, who had conceived so good an opinion of me 
that my conversation I found was acceptable to him, 
and he seemed heartily glad of my recovery and re- 
turn ; and into our old method of study we fell again, 
I reading to him, and he explaining to me as occasion 
required. 

But, as if learning had been a forbidden fruit to me, 
scarce was I well settled in my work before I met 
M'ith another diversion, which turned me quite out of 
my work. For a sudden storm arising, from I know 
not what surmise of a plot, and thereby danger to the 
government ; and the meetings of dissenters (such I 
mean as could be found, which perhaps were not many 
besides the Quakers) were broken up throughout the 
city, and the prisons mostly filled with our fi'iends. 

I was that morning, which was the 26th day of the 
eighth month, 1662, at the meeting at the Bull and 
Mouth, by Aldersgate, when on a sudden a party of 
soldiers of the trained bands of the city rushed in, with 
noise and clamor, being led by one who was called 
Major Rosewell, an apothecary, if I misremember not, 
and at that time under the ill name of a Papist. As 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 279 

soon as he was come within the room, having a file or 
two of musketeers at his heels, he commanded his men 
to present their muskets at us, which they did ; with 
intent, I suppose, to strike a terror into the jjeople. 
Then he made a proclamation, that all who were not 
Quakers might depart if they would. 

It so happened that a young man, an apprentice in 

London, whose name was Dove, the son of Dr. 

Dove, of Chinner, near Crowell, in Oxfordshire, came 
that day, in curiosity, to see the meeting, and, coming 
early, and finding me there, whom he knew, came and 
sat down hy me. As soon as he heard the noise of 
soldiers he was much startled, and asked me softly if 
I would not shift for myself, and try to get out. I 
told him no ; I was in my place, and was willing to 
suffer if it was my lot. When he found the notice 
given that they who were not Quakers might depart, 
he solicited me again to be gone. I told him I could 
not do so, for that would he to renounce my profession, 
which I would by no means do. But as for him, who 
was not one of us, he might do as he pleased. Where- 
upon, wishing me well, he turned away, and with cap 
in hand went out. And truly I was glad he was gone, 
for his master was a rigid Presbyterian, who, in all 
likelihood, would have led him a wretched life had he 
been taken and imprisoned among the Quakers. 

The soldiers came so early that the meeting was not 
fully gathered when they came ; and, when the mixed 
company were gone out, we were so few, and sat so 
thin in that large room, that they might take a clear 
view of us all, and single us out as they pleased. He 
that commanded the party gave us first a general 
charge to come out of the room. But we, who came 
thither at God's requirings, to worship him, like that 



280 THE LIFE OF 

good m?.n of old, who said, ^' We onght to obey God 
rather than men " (Acts v. 29), stirred not, but kept 
our places. Whereupon he sent some of his soldiers 
among us, with command to drag or drive us out, 
which they did roughly enough. 

When we came out into the street, we were received 
there by other soldiers, who, with their pikes holden 
lengthways from one another, encompassed us round as 
sheep in a pound j and there we stood a pretty time, 
while they were picking up more to add to our num- 
ber. In this work none seemed so eager and active as 
their leader. Major Rosewell. Which I observing, 
stepped boldly to him, as he was passing by me, and 
asked him if he intended a massacre , for of that, in 
those times, there was a great apprehension and talk. 
The suddenness of the question, from such a young man 
especially, somewhat startled him ; but recollecting 
himself, he answered, ''No; but I intend to have you 
all hanged by the wholesome laws of the land." 

When he had gotten as many as he could, or thought 
fit, which were in number thirty-two, whereof two were 
catched up in the street, w^ho had not been at the meet- 
ing, he ordered the pikes to be opened before us j and 
giving the word to march, went himself at the head 
of lis, the soldiers with their pikes making a lane to 
keep us from scattering. 

He led us up Martin's, and so turned down to New- 
gate, where I expected he would lodge us. But, to my 
disappointment, he went on through Newgate, and, 
turning through the Old Bailey, brought us into Fleet 
Street. I was then wholly at a loss to conjecture 
whither he would lead us, unless it were to Whitehall, 
for I knew nothing then of Old Bridewell; but on a 
sudden he gave a short turn, and brought us before the 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 281 

gate of that prison, where, knocking, the wicket was 
forthwith opened, and the master, with his porter, 
ready to receive us. 

One of those two who were picked up in the street 
heing near me, and telling me his case, I stepped to the 
major, and told him that this man was not at the meet- 
ing, but was taken up in the street ; and showed him 
how hard and unjust a thing it would he to put him 
into prison. I had not pleased him before in the ques- 
tion I had put to him about a massacre 5 and that, I 
suppose, made this solicitation less acceptable to him 
from me than it might have been fi'om some other. 
For, looking sternly on me, he said, '^ Who are you, 
that take so much upon you 1 Seeing you are so busy, 
you shall be the first man that shall go into Bridewell." 
And, taking me by the shoulders, he thrust me in. 

As soon as I was in, the porter, pointing with his 
finger, directed me to a fair pair of stairs on the far- 
ther side of a large court, and bid me go up those 
stairs, and go on till I could go no farther. Accord- 
ingly I went up the stairs; the first flight whereof 
brought me to a fair chapel on my left hand, which 
I cuuld look into through the iron grates, but could 
not have gone into if I would. I knew that was not 
a place for me ; wherefore, following my direction, 
and the winding of the stairs, I went up a story higher, 
which brought me into a room, which I soon perceived 
to be a court-room, or place of judicature. After I 
had stood awhile there, and taken a view of it, observ- 
ing a door on the farther side, I went to it, and opened 
it with intention to go in, but I quickly drew back, 
being almost afirighted at the dismalness of the place. 
For besides that the walls quite round were laid all 
over, from top to bottom, in black, there stood in the 



282 THE LIFE OF 

middle of it a great whipping-post, which was all the 
furniture it had. 

In one of these two rooms judgment was given, and 
in the other it was executed, on those ill people who 
for their lewdness were sent to this prison, and there 
sentenced to he whipped. Which was so contrived, 
that the coui-t. might not only hear, hut see, if they 
pleased, their sentence executed. A sight so unex- 
pected, and withal so unpleasing, gave me no encour- 
agement either to rest, or indeed to enter at all there; 
till looking earnestly I espied, on the opposite side, a 
door which, giving me hopes of a farther progress, I 
adventured to step hastily to it, and opened it. 

This let me into one of the fairest rooms that, so far 
as I rememher, I was ever in, and no wonder; for 
though it was now put to this mean use, it had, for 
many ages past, been the royal seat or palace of the 
kings of England, until Cardinal Wolsey built White- 
hall, and offered it as a peace-offering to King Henry 
the Eighth, w^ho until that time had kept his court in 
this house, and had this, as the people in the house 
reported, for his dining-room, by which name it then 
went. This room in length (for I lived long enough 
in it to have time to measure it) was threescore feet, 
and had breadth proportionable to it. In it, on the 
front side, were very large bay windows, in which 
stood a large table. It had other very large tables in 
it. Math benches round ; and at that time the floor was 
covered with rushes, against some solemn festival, 
-which I heard it was bespoken for. 

Here was my nil ultra, and here I found I might set 
up my pillar ; for although there M^as a door out of it 
to a back pair of stairs which led to it, yet that was 
kept locked. So that finding I had now followed my 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 28 



o 



keeper's direction to the utmost point, beyond which 
I could not go, I sat down and considered that rhetor- 
ical saying, that ' ' the way to heaven lay by the gate 
of hell " ; the black room, through which I passed into 
this, bearing some resemblance to the latter, as this, 
comparatively and by way of allusion, might in some 
sort be thought to bear to the former. But I was 
quickly put out of these thoughts by the flocking in 
of the other Friends, my fellow-prisoners ; amongst 
whom yet, when all were come together, there was but 
one whom I knew so much as by face, and with him I 
had no acquaintance. For I having been but a little 
while in the city, and in that time kept close to my 
studies, I was by that means known to very few. 

Soon after we were all gotten together, came up the 
master of the house after us, and demanded our names, 
which we might reasonably have refused to give till we 
had been legally convened before some civil magistrate, 
who had power to examine us and demand our names ; 
but we who were neither guileful nor wilful, simply 
gave him our names, which he took downi in writing. 

It was, as I hinted before, a general storm which 
fell that day, but it lighted most, and most heavy, upon 
our meetings ; so that most of our men Friends were 
made prisoners, and the prisons generally filled. And 
great work had the women to run about from prison 
to prison to find their husbands, their fathers, their 
brothers, or their servants ; for accordingly as they had 
disposed themselves to several meetings, so were they 
dispersed to several prisons. And no less care and 
pains had they, when they had found them, to furnish 
them with provisions, and other" necessary accommo- 
dations. 

But an excellent order, even in those early days, was 



284 " THE LIFE OF 

practised among tlie Friends of that city, by which there 
were certain Friends of either sex appointed to have the 
oversight of the prisons in every quarter, and to take 
care of all Friends, the poor especially, that should he 
committed thither. This prison of Bridewell was 
under the care of two honest, grave, discreet, and 
motherly women, whose names were Anne Merrick 
(afterwards Vivers) and Anne Travers, both widows. 
They, as soon as they understood that there were 
Friends brought into that prison, provided some hot 
victuals, meat and broth, for the weather was cold ; 
and, ordering their servants to bring it thein, with 
bread, cheese, and beer, came themselves also with it, 
and, having placed it on a table, gave notice to us that 
it was provided for all those that had not others to 
provide for them, or were not able to provide for them- 
selves. And there wanted not among us a competent 
number of such guests. 

As for my part, though I had lived as frugally as 
possibly I could, that I might draw out the thread of 
my little stock to the utmost length, yet had I, by this 
time, reduced it to tenpence, which was all the money 
I had about me, or anywhere else at my command. 
This was but a small estate to enter upon an imprison- 
ment with, yet was I not at all discouraged at it, nor 
had I a murmuring thought. I had known what it 
was moderately to aboimd, and if I should now come 
to suifer want, I knew I ought to be content; and 
through the grace of God I was so. I had lived by 
Providence before, when for a long time I had no 
money at all ; and I had always found the Lord a good 
provider. I made no doubt, therefore, that he who set 
the ravens to feed Elijah, and who clothes the lilies, 
would find some means to sustain me with needful 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 285 

food and raiment ; and I had learned by experience the 
truth of that saying, Natura paucis contenta, i. e. Na- 
ture is content with few things or little. 

Although the sight and smell of hot food was suffi- 
ciently enticing to my empty stomach, for I had eaten 
little that morning, and was hungry, yet, considering 
the terms of the invitation, I questioned whether I was 
included in it; and after some reasonings, at length 
concluded that, while I had tenpence in my pocket, I 
should be an injurious intruder to that mess, which 
was provided for such as perhaps had not twopence in 
theirs. Being come to this resolution, I withdrew as 
far from the table as I could, and sat down in a quiet 
retirement of mind till the repast was over, which was 
not long, for there were hands enough at it to make 
light work of it. When evening came, the porter 
came up the back stairs, and, opening the door, told us 
if we desired to have anything that was to be had in 
the house, he would bring it us; for there was in 
the house a chandler's shop, at which beer, bread, but- 
ter, cheese, eggs, and bacon might be had for money. 
Upon which many went to him and spake for what 
of these things they had a mind to, giving him money 
to pay for them. Among the rest went I, and, intend- 
ing to spin out my tenpence as far as I could, desired 
him to bring me a penny loaf only. When he re- 
turned, we all resorted to him to receive our several 
provisions, which he delivered ; and when he came to 
me, he told me he could not get a penny loaf, but he 
had brought me two halfpenny loaves. This suited 
me better ; wherefore, returning to my place again, I 
sat down and eat up one of my loaves, reserving the 
other for the next day. This was to me both dinner 
and supper ; and so well satisfied T was with it, that I 



286 THE LIFE OF 

could willingly tlien have gone to bed, if I had had owe 
to go to ; hut that was not to he expected there, nor 
had any one any hedding brought in that night. Some 
of the company had been so considerate as to send for 
a pound of candles, that we might not sit all night in 
the dark; and having lighted divers of them, and 
placed them in several parts of that large room, we 
kept walking to keep us warm. 

After I had warmed myself pretty thoroughly, and 
the evening was pretty far spent, I bethought myself 
of a lodging ; and cast my eye on the table which stood 
in the bay window, the frame whereof looked, I thought, 
somewhat like a bedstead. Wherefore, willing to make 
sure of that, I gathered up a good armful of the rushes, 
wherewith the floor was covered, and spreading them 
under that table, crept in upon them in my clothes, and 
keeping on my hat, laid my head upon one end of the 
table's frame, instead of a bolster. My example was 
followed by the rest, who, gathering up rushes as I had 
done, made themselves beds in other parts of the room, 
and so to rest we went. I, having a quiet easy mind, 
was soon asleep, and slept till about the middle of the 
night ; and then waking, finding my legs and feet very 
cold, I crept out of my cabin, and began to walk about 
apace. This waked and raised all the rest, who, find- 
ing themselves cold as well as I, got up and walked 
about with me, till we had pretty well warmed our- 
selves, and then we all lay down again, and rested till 
morning. 

Next day all'they who had families, or belonged to 
families, had bedding brought in of one sort or other, 
which they disposed at the ends and sides of the room, 
leaving the middle void to walk in. But I, who had 
nobody to look after me, kept to my rushy pallet un- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 287 

der the table for four nights together, in which time 
I did not put off my clothes ; yet, through the merciful 
goodness of Grod unto me, I rested and slept well, and 
enjoyed health, without taking cold. In this time 
divers of our company, througli the solicitations of 
some of their relations or acquaintance to Sir Richard 
Brown (who was at that time a great master of mis- 
rule in the city, and over Bridewell more especially), 
were released; and among these one William Mucklow, 
who lay in a hammock. He, having observed that I 
only was unprovided of lodging, came very courteously 
to me, and kindly offered me the use of his hammock 
while I should continue a prisoner. This was a provi- 
dential accommodation to me, which I received thanlv- 
fully, both from the Lord and from him ; and from thence- 
forth I thought I lay as well as ever I had done in my life. 
Amongst those that remained, there were several 
young men who cast themselves into a club, and lay- 
ing down every one an equal proportion of money, put 
it into the hand of our friend Anne Travers, desir- 
ing her to lay it out for them in provisions, and 
send them in every day a mess of hot meat ; and 
they kindly invited me to come into their club 
with them. These saw my person, and judged of 
me by that, but they saw not my purse, nor under- 
stood the lightness of my pocket. But I, who alone 
understood my own condition, knew I must sit down 
with lower commons. Wherefore, not giving them the 
true reason, I, as fairly as T could, excused myself from 
entering at present into their mess, and went on, as 
before, to eat by myself, and that very sparingly, as 
my stock would bear. And before my tenpence was 
quite spent. Providence, on whom I relied, sent me a 
fresh supply. 



288 THE LIFE OF 

For William Penington, a brother of Isaac Peniiig- 
ton's, a friend and merchant in London, at whose house, 
before I came to live in the city, I was wont to lodge, 
having been at his brother's that day "upon a visit, 
escaped this storm, and so was at liberty ; and under- 
standing when he came back what had been done, 
bethought himself of me, and upon inquiry hearing 
where I was, came in love to see me. He, in dis- 
course amongst other things, asked me how it was 
with me as to money, and how well I was famished ; 
I told him I could not boast of much, and yet I could 
not say I had none ; though what I then had was in- 
deed next to none. Whereupon he put twenty shillings 
into my hand, and desired me to accept of that for the 
present. I saw a Divine hand in thus opening his 
heart and hand in this manner to me. And though I 
would willingly have been excused from taking so 
much, and would have returned one half of it, yet, he 
pressing it all upon me, I received it with a thankful 
acknowledgment, as a token of love from the Lord and 
from him. 

On the seventh day he went down again, as he 
usually did, to his brother's house at Chalfont ; and 
in discourse gave them an account of my imprison- 
ment. Whereupon, at his return on the second day 
of the week following, my affectionate friend Mary 
Penington sent me by him forty shillings, which he 
soon after brought me ; out of which I would have 
repaid him the twenty shillings he had so kindly fur- 
nished me with ; but he would not admit it, telling 
me I might have occasion for that and more before I 
got my liberty. Not many days after this I received 
twenty shillings from my father, who being then at his 
house in Oxfordshire, and by letter from my sister 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 289 

understanding that I was a prisoner in Bridewell, sent 
this money to me for my support there ; and withal a 
letter to my sister, for her to deliver to one called Mr. 
Wray, who lived near Bridewell, and was a servant to 
Sir Richard Brown, in some wharf of his, requesting 
him to intercede with his master, who was one of the 
governors of Bridewell, for my deliverance. But that 
letter coming to my hands, I suppressed it, and have 
it yet by me. 

Now was my pocket, from the lowest ehb, risen to 
a full tide. I was at the brink of want, next door to 
nothing, yet my confidence did not fail nor my faith 
stagger ; and now on a sudden I had plentiful supplies, 
shower upon shower, so that I abounded, yet was not 
lifted up, but in humility could s/iy, " This is the 
Lord's doing." And, without defrauding any of the 
instruments of the acknowledgments due unto them, 
mine eye looked over and beyond them to the Lord, 
who I saw was the author thereof, and prime agent 
therein, and with a thankful heart I returned thanks- 
givings and praises to him. And this great goodness 
of the Lord to me I thus record to the end that all 
into whose hands this may come may be encouraged 
to trust in the Lord, whose mercy is over all his works, 
and who is indeed a G-od near at hand to help in the 
needful time. Now I durst venture myself into the 
club, to which I had been invited, and accordingly 
(having by this time gained an acquaintance with 
them) took an opportunity to cast myself among them ; 
and thenceforward, so long as we continued prisoners 
there together, I was one of their mess. 

And now the chief thing I wanted was employment, 
which scarcely any wanted but myself; for the rest of 
my company were generally tradesmen, of such trades 



290 THE LIFE OF 

as could set themselves on work. Of these divers were 
tailors, some masters, some jom'neymeii, and with 
these I most inclined to settle. But because I was 
too much a novice in their ait to he trusted with their 
work lest I should spoil the garment, I got work from 
a hosier in Cheapside ; which was to make night- 
waistcoats, of red and yellow flannel, for women and 
children. And with this I entered myself among the 
tailors, sitting cross-legged as they did, and so spent 
those leisure hours M^ith innocency and pleasure, which 
want of business would have made tedious. And 
indeed that was, in a manner, the only advantage I 
had by it ; for my master, though a very wealthy 
man, and one who professed not only friendship but 
particular kindness to me, dealt, I thought, but hardly 
with me. For though he knew not what I had to 
subsist by, he never ofifered me a penny for my work 
till I had done working for him, and went, after I was 
released, to give him a visit ; and then he would not 
reckon with me neither, because, as he smiUngly said, 
he "W^ould not let me so far into his trade as to acquaint 
me with the prices of the work, but would be sure 
to give me enough. And thereupon he gave me one 
crown piece, and no more ; though I had wrought 
long for him, and made him many dozens of waist- 
coats, and bought the thread myself, which I thought 
was very poor pay. But, as Providence had ordered 
it, I wanted the M^ork more than the wages, and there- 
fore took what he gave me without complaining. 

About this time, while we were prisoners in our fair 
chamber, a Friend was brought and put in among us, 
who had been sent thither by Richard Brown, to beat 
liemp ; whose case was thus : He was a very poor 
man, who lived by mending shoes ; and on a seventh- 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 291 

day night late, a carman, or some other such laboring 
man, brought him a pair of shoes to mend, desiring 
him to mend them that night, that he might have 
them in the morning, for he had no others to wear. 
The poor man sat up at work upon tliem till after 
midnight, and then finding he could not finish them, 
he went to bed, intending to do the rest in the morning. 
Accordingly he got up betimes, and though he wrought 
as privately as he could in his chamber, that he might 
avoid giving offence to any, yet could he not do it so 
privately but that an ill-natured neighbor perceived 
it, who went and informed against him for working on 
the Sunday. Whereupon he was had before Richard 
Brown, who committed him to Bridewell for a certain 
time, to be kept to hard labor in beating hemp, which 
is labor hard enough. 

It so fell out, that at the same time were committed 
thither (for what cause I do not now remember) two 
lusty young men, who were called Baptists, to be kept 
also at the same labor. The Friend was a poor little 
man, of a low condition and mean appearance; whereas 
these two Baptists were topping blades, that looked 
high, and spake big. They scorned to beat hemp, 
and made a pish at the whipping-post; but when 
they had once felt the smart of it, they soon cried 
peccavi, and, submitting to the punishment, set their 
tender hands to the beetles. The Friend, on the other 
hand, acting upon a principle, as knowing he had done 
no evil for which he should undergo that punishment, 
refused to work, and for refusing was cruelly whipped, 
which he bore with wonderful constancy and resolution 
of mind. 

The manner of whipping there is to strip the party 
to the skin from the waist upwards, and having 



292- THE LIFE OF 

fastened him to the whipping-post, so that he can 
neither resist nor shun the strokes, to lash the hody 
with long, but slender twigs of holly, which wiU bend 
almost like thongs, and lap round the body 5 and these, 
having little knots upon them, tear the skin and flesh, 
and give extreme pain. With these rods they tor- 
mented the Friend most barbarously ; and the more 
for that having mastered the two braving Baptists, 
they disdained to be mastered by this poor Quaker. 
Yet were they fain at last to yield, when they saw 
their utmost severity could not make him yield. And 
then, not willing to be troubled longer with him, they 
turned him up among us. 

When we had inquired of him how it was with him, 
and he had given us a brief account of both his cause 
and usage, it came in my mind that 1 had in my box 
(which I had sent for from my lodging, to keep some 
few books and other necessaries in) a little gallipot 
with Lucatellu's balsam in it. Wherefore, causing a 
good fire to be made, and setting the Friend within a 
blanket before the fire, we stripped him to the waist, 
as if he had been to be whipped again ; and found his 
skin so cut and torn with the knotty holly rods, both 
back, side, arm, and breast, that it was a dismal sight 
to look upon. Then melting some of the balsam, I, 
with a feather, anointed all the sores, and, putting on a 
softer cloth between his skin and his shirt, helped him 
on with his clothes again. This dressing gave him 
much ease, and I continued it till he was well. And 
because he was a very poor man, we took him into our 
mess, contriving that there should always be enough 
for him as well as for ourselves. Thus he lived with 
us until the time he was committed for was expired, 
and then he was released. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 293 

But we were still continued prisoners by an arbi- 
trary power, not being committed by the civil author- 
ity, nor having seen the face of any civil magistrate, 
from the day we were thrust in here by soldiers, which 
was the 26th day of the eighth month, to the 19th of 
the tenth month following. On that day we were had 
to the sessions at the Old Bailey. But not being 
called there, we were brought back to Bridewell, and 
continued there to the 29th of the same month, and 
then we were carried to the sessions again. 

I expected I should have been called the first because 
my name was first taken down ; but it proved other- 
wise, so that I was one of the last that was called, 
which gave me the advantage of hearing the pleas of 
the other prisoners, and discovering the temper of the 
court. The prisoners complained of the illegality of 
their imprisonment, and desired to know what they 
had lain so long in prison for. The court regarded 
nothing of that, and did not stick to tell them so. 
" For," said the recorder to them, '' if you think you 
have been wrongfully imprisoned, you have your remedy 
at law, and may take it, if you tliink it worth your 
while. The court," said he, "■ may send for any man 
out of the street, and tender him the oath : so we take 
no notice how you came hither, but, finding you here, 
we tender you the oath of allegiance, which, if you 
refuse to take, we shall commit you, and at length 
premunire you." Accordingly, as every one refused it, 
he was set aside and another called. 

By this I saw it was in vain for me to insist upon 
false imprisonment, or ask the cause of my commit- 
ment, though I had before furnished myself with some 
authorities and maxims of law on that subject, to plead, 
if room should be given ; and I had the book out of 



294 THE LIFE OF 

which I took them in my bosom } for, the weather "being 
cold, I wore a gown girt about the middle, and had 
put the book within it. But I now resolved to waive 
all that and insist upon another plea, which just then 
came into my mind. As soon therefore as I M^as called, 
I stepped nimbly to the bar, and stood up upon the 
stepping, that I might the better both hear and be 
heard, and, laying my hands upon the bar, stood ready, 
expecting what they w^ould say to me. 

I suppose they took me for a confident young man, 
for they looked very earnestly upon me ; and we faced 
each other, without words, for a while. At length the 
recorder, who was called Sir John Howel, asked me if 
I would take the oath of allegiance, to which I an- 
swered : ^' I conceive this court hath not power to 
tender that oath to me, in the condition wherein I 
stand." This so unexpected plea seemed to startle 
them, so that they looked one upon another, and said 
somewhat low one to another, " What! doth he demur 
to the jurisdiction of the court?" And thereupon the 
recorder asked me : '• Do you then demur to the juris- 
diction of the court ? " ^^ Not absolutely," answered 
I, '^ but conditionally, with respect to my present con- 
dition, and the circumstances I am now under." 

" Why, what is your present condition ? " said the 
recorder. ''A prisoner," replied I. ''And what is 
that," said he, '^ to you taking or not taking the oath ? " 
'' Enough," said I, '' as I conceive, to exempt me from 
the tender thereof, while I am under this condition." 
' ' Pray, what is your reason for that f " said he. ' ' This," 
said I, '' that if I rightly understand tlie words of the 
statute, I am required to say that I do take this oath 
freely and without constraint ; which I cannot say, 
because I am not a free man, but in bonds, and under 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. ■ 295 

constraint. Wherefore I conceive, that if you would 
tender that oath to me, ye ought first to set me free 
from my present imprisonment." 

"But," said the recorder, "will you take the oath 
if you be set free f " " Thou shalt see that," said I, 
" when I am set free. Therefore set me free first, 
and then ask the question." " But," said he again, 
" you know your own mind, sure, and can tell now 
what you would do if you were at liberty." " Yes," re- 
plied I, " that I can; but I do not hold myself obliged 
to tell it until I am at liberty. Therefore set me at 
liberty, and ye shall soon hear it." 

Thus we fenced a good while, till I was both weary 
of such trifling, and doubted also lest some of the stand- 
ers-by should suspect I would take it if I was set at 
liberty. Wherefore, when the recorder put it upon me 
again, I told him plainly, "No; though I thought 
they ought not to tender it me till I had been set at 
liberty, yet if I was set at liberty I could not take the 
oath, because my Lord and Master, Christ Jesus, had 
expressly commanded, his disciples not to swear at 
all." 

As his command was enough to me, so this confes- 
sion of mine was enough to them. " Take him away," 
said they ; and away I was taken, and thrust into the 
bail-dock to my other friends, who had been called be- 
fore me. And as soon as the rest of our company were 
called, and had refused to swear, we w^ere all committed 
to Newgate, and thrust into the common side. When 
we came there, we found that side of the prison very 
full of Friends, who were prisoners there before (as 
indeed were, at that time, all the other parts of that 
prison, and most of the other prisons about the town), 
and our addition caused a great throng on that side. 



296 THE LIFE OF 

Notwithstanding whicli, we were kindly welcomed by 
our friends whom we fomid there, and entertained by 
them, as well as their condition would admit, until we 
could get in our own accommodations, and provide for 
ourselves. 

We had the liberty of the hall (which is on the first 
story over the gate, and which in the daytime is com- 
mon to all the prisoners on that side, felons as well as 
others, to walk in, and to beg out of), and we had also 
the liberty of some other rooms over that hall, to walk 
or work in a-days. But in the night we all lodged in 
one room, M^hich was large and round, having in the 
middle of it a great pillar of oaken timber, which bore 
up the chapel that is over it. To this pillar we fas- 
tened our hammocks at the one end, and to the oppo- 
site wall on the other end, quite round the room, and 
in three degrees, or three stories high, one over the 
other, so that they who lay in the upper and middle 
row of hammocks were obliged to go to bed first, be- 
cause they were to climb up to the higher, by getting 
into the lower. And under the lower rank of ham- 
mocks, by the wall sides, were laid beds upon the floor, 
in which the sick, and such weak persons as" could not 
get into the hammocks, lay. And, indeed, though the 
room was large and pretty airy, yet the breath and 
steam that came from so many bodies, of different ages, 
conditions, and constitutions, packed up so close to- 
gether, was enough to cause sickness amongst us, and 
I believe did so ; for there were many sick, and some 
very weak, and though we were not long there, yet in 
that time one of our fellow-prisoners, who lay in one 
of those pallet-beds, died. 

This caused some bustle in the house. For the body 
of the deceased, being laid out, and put into a coffin, 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 297 

was carried down and set in the room called the lodge, 
that the coroner might inquire into the cause and man- 
nei; of his death. And the manner of their doing it is 
thus : As soon as the coroner is come, the turnkeys 
run out into the street under the gate, and seize upon 
every man that passes by, till they have got enough to 
make up the coroner's inquest. And so resolute these 
rude fellows are, that if any man resist or dispute it with 
them they drag him in by main force, not regarding 
what condition he is of. Nay, I have been told, they 
will not stick to stop a coach, and pluck the men out 
of it. 

It so happened, that at this time they lighted on 
an ancient man, a grave citizen, who was trudging 
through the gate in great haste, and him they laid 
hold on, telling him he must come in, and serve upon 
the coroner's inquest. He pleaded hard, begged and 
besought them to let him go, assuring them he was 
going on very urgent business, and that the stopping 
of him would be greatly to his prejudice. But they 
were deaf to all entreaties, and hurried him in, the 
poor man chafing without remedy. When they had 
got their complement, and were shut in together, the 
rest of them said to this ancient man, '' Come, father, 
you are the oldest among us, you shall be our fore- 
man." And when the coroner had sworn them on the 
jury, the coffin was uncovered that they might look 
upon the body. But the old man, disturbed in his 
mind at the interruption they had given him, was 
grown somewhat fretful upon it, and said to them : 
" To what purpose do you show us a dead body here ? 
You would not have us think, sure, that this man died 
in this room ! How then shall we be able to judge 
how this man came by his death, unless we see the 



298 THE LIFE OF 

place wherein he died, and wherein he hath "been kept 
prisoner before he died ? How know we but that the 
incommodiousness of the phice wherein he was kept 
may have occasioned his deatli 1 Therefore show us 
the place wherein this man died." 

This much displeased the keepers, and they began to 
banter the old man, thinking to beat him off it. But 
he stood up tightly to them. '' Come, come," said he, 
'^though you have made a fool of me in bringing me 
in hither, ye shall not find a child of me now I am 
here. Mistake not yourselves ', I understand my place, 
and your duty ; and I require you to conduct me and 
my brethren to the place where this man died : refuse 
it at your peril," They now wished they had let the old 
man go about his business, rather than, by troubling 
him, have brought this trouble on themselves. But 
when they saw he persisted in his resolution, and w^as 
peremptory, the coroner told them they must go show 
him the place. 

It w^as in the evening when they began this work ; 
and by this time it was grown bedtime Mith us, so 
that we had taken down our hammocks, which in the 
day were hung up by the walls, and had made them 
ready to go into, and were undressing ourselves in 
readiness to go into them ', when on a sudden we heard 
a great noise of tongues, and of tramplings of feet, 
coming towards us. And by and by one of the turn- 
keys, opening our door, said : ^' Hold, hold, do not un- 
dress yourselves ; here is the coroner's inquest coming 
to see you." As soon as they were come to the door 
(for within the door there was scarcely room for them 
to come) the foreman, who led them, lifting up his 
hand, said : '' Lord bless me, what a sight is here ! I 
did not think there had been so much cruelty in the 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 299 

hearts of Englislimen, to use Englishmen in this man- 
ner ! We need not now question," said he to tlie rest 
of the jury, 'Miow this man came by his deatli; we 
may ratlier wonder tliat they are not all dead ; for this 
place is enough to breed an infection among them. 
Well," added he, '^ if it please God to lengthen my 
life till to-morrow, I will find means to let the king 
know how his subjects are dealt with." 

Whether he did so or not, I cannot tell ; but I am 
apt to think he applied himself to the mayor or the 
sheriffs of London. For the next day, one of the sheriffs, 
called Sir William Turner, a woollen draper in Paul's 
Yard, came to the press- yard, and having ordered the 
porter of Bridewell to attend him there, sent up a turn- 
key amongst us to bid all the Bridewell prisoners come 
down to him, for they knew us not, but we knew our 
own company. Being come before him in the press- 
yard, he looked kindly on us, and spake courteously to 
us. ^' Gentlemen," said he, '^ I understand the prison 
is very full, and I am sorry for it. I wish it were in 
my power to release you and the rest of your friends 
that are in it. But since I cannot do that, I am will- 
ing to do what I can for you. And therefore I am 
come hither to inquire how it is ; and I would have all 
you who came from Bridewell return thither again, 
which will be a better accommodation to you; and 
your removal will give the more room to those that are 
left behind ; and here is the porter of Bridewell, your 
old keeper, to attend you thither." 

We duly acknowledged the favor of the sheriff to 
us and our friends above, in this removal of us, which 
would give them more room, and us a better air. But 
before we parted from him, I spake particularly to him 
on another occasion, which was this : When we came 



300 THE LIFE OF 

into Newgate we found a shabby fellow there amcng 
the Friends, who, upon inquiry, we understood had 
thrust himself among our friends, when they were 
taken at a meeting, on purpose to be sent to prison 
with them, in hopes to be maintained by them. They 
knew nothing of him till they found him shut in with 
them in the prison, and then took no notice of him, as 
not knowing how or why he came thither. But he 
soon gave them cause to take notice of him ; for 
wherever he saw any victuals brought forth for them 
to eat, he would be sure to thrust in, with knife in 
hand, and make himself his own carver ; and so im- 
pudent was he, that if he saw the provision was short, 
whoever wanted, he would be sure to take enough. 
Thus lived this lazy drone upon the labors of the in- 
dustrious bees, to his high content and their no small 
trouble, to whom his company was as offensive as his 
ravening was oppressive ; nor could they get any relief 
by their complaining of him to the keepers. 

This fellow, hearing the notice which was given for 
the Bridewell men to go down, in order to be removed 
to Bridewell again, and hoping, no doubt, that fresh 
quarters would produce fresh commons, and that he 
should fare better with us than where he was, thrust 
himself among us, and went down into the press-yard 
with us; which I knew not till I saw him standing 
there with his hat on, and looking as demurely as he 
could, that the sheriff might take him for a Quaker: 
at the sight of which my spirit was much stirred; 
wherefore, so soon as the sheriff had done speaking to 
us, and we had made our acknowledgment of his kind- 
ness, I stepped a little nearer to him, and pointing to 
that fellow, said, ^^ That man is not only none of our 
company, for he is no Quaker ; but is an idle, dissolute 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 301 

fellow, who hath thrust himself in among our friends, 
to be sent to prison with them, that he might live upon 
thera ; therefore I desire we may not be troubled with 
him at Bridewell." 

At this the sheriff smiled; and, calling the fellow 
forth, said to him, '' How came you to be in prison "^ ^' 
'' I was taken at a meeting," said he. '^ But what 
business had you there?" said the sheriff. '^ I went 
to hear," said he. '^ Aye, you went upon a worse 
design, it seems," replied the sheriff; ''but I'll dis- 
appoint you, for I '11 change your company, and send 
you to them that are like yourself." Then calling for 
the turnkey, he said, ''Take this fellow, and put him 
among the felons ; and be sure let him not trouble the 
Quakers any more." Hitherto this fellow had stood 
with his hat on, as willing to have passed, if he could, 
for a Quaker ; but as soon as he heard this doom 
passed on him, off went his hat, and to bowing and 
scraping he fell, with " Good your worship, have pity 
upon me, and set me at liberty.'' "No, no," said the 
sheriff, " I will not so far disappoint you ; since you 
had a mind to be in prison, in prison you shall be for 
me." Then bidding the turnkey take him away, he 
had him up, and put him among the felons ; and so 
Friends had a good deliverance from him. 

The sheriff then bidding us farewell, the porter of 
Bridewell came to us, and told us we knew our way to 
Bridewell without him, and he could trust us ; there- 
fore he would not stay nor go with us, but left us to 
take our own time, so we were in before bedtime. 
Then went we up again to our friends in Newgate, and 
gave them an account of what had passed ; and, having 
taken a solemn leave of them, we made up our packs 
to be gone. But before I pass from Newgate, I think 



302 THE LIFE OF 

it not amiss to give the reader some little account of 
what I ohserved while I was there. 

The common side of Newgate is generally accounted^ 
as it really is, the worst part of that prison ; not so 
much from the place, as the people ; it being usually 
stocked with the veriest rogues, and meanest sort of 
felons and pickpockets, who, not being able to pay cham- 
ber-rent on the master's side, are thrust in there. And 
if they come in bad, to be sure they do not go out bet- 
ter; for here they have an opportunity to instruct one 
another in their art, and impart to each other what im- 
provements they have made therein. 

The common hall, which is the first room over the 
gate, is a good place to walk in when the prisoners are 
out of it, saving the danger of catching some cattle 
which they may have left in it ; and there I used to 
walk in a morning before they were let up, and some- 
times in the daytime when they have been there. 

They all carried themselves respectfully towards me, 
which I imputed chiefly to this, that when any of our 
women Friends came there to visit the prisoners, if they 
had not relations of their own there to take care of them, 
I (as being a young man, and more at leisure than 
most others, for I could not play the tailor there) was 
forward to go down with them to the grate, and see 
them safe out. And sometimes they have left money 
in my hands for the felons (who at such times were very 
importunate beggars), which I forthwith distributed 
among them in bread, which was to be had in the 
place. But so troublesome an office it was, that I 
thought one had as good have had a pack of hungry 
hounds about one, as these, when they knew there was 
a dole to be given. Yet this, I think, made them a 
little the more observant to me ; for they would dispose 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 303 

themselves to one side of the room, that they might 
make way for me to walk on the other. 

For having, as I hinted before, made up our packs, 
and taken our leave of our friends whom we were to leave 
behind, we took our bundles on our shoulders, and 
wallted, two and two abreast, through the Old Bailey 
into Fleet Street, and so to Old Bridewell. And it be- 
ing about the middle of the afternoon, and the streets 
pretty full of people, both the shopkeepers at their 
doors, and passengers in the way, would stop us, and 
ask us what we were, and whither we were going. 
And when we had told them we were prisoners going 
from one prison to another, from Newgate to Bridewell, 
''What!" said they, "without a keeper!" ''No," 
said we, "for our word which we have given is our 
keeper." Some thereupon would advise us not to go 
to prison, but to go home. But we told them we could 
not do so ; we could suffer for our testimony, but could 
not fly from it. I do not remember we had any abuse 
offered us, but were generally pitied by the people. 

When we were come to Bridewell, we were not put 
up into the great room in which we had been before, 
but into a low room in another fair court, which had a 
pump in the middle of it. And here we were not shut 
up as before, but had the liberty of the court to walk in, 
and of the pump to wash or drink at. And indeed we 
might easily have gone quite away if we would, there 
being a passage through the court into the street ; but 
we were true and steady prisoners, and looked upon 
this liberty arising from their confidence in us, to be a 
kind of parole upon us ; so that both conscience and 
honor stood now engaged for our true imprisoinnent. 

Adjoining to this room wherein we were, was such 
another, both newly fitted up for workhouses, and 



304 THE LIFE OF 

accordingly furnislied with very great blocks for beat- 
ing hemp upon, and a lusty whipping-post there was 
in each. And it was said that Richard Brown had 
ordered those blocks to be provided for the Quakers to 
work on, resolving to try his strength with us in that 
case 5 but if that was his purpose, it was overruled, for 
we never had any work offered us, nor were we treated 
after the manner of those that are to be so used. Yet 
we set ourselves to work on them ; for, being very 
large, they served the tailors for shop-boards, and oth- 
ers wrought upon them as they had occasion ; and 
they served us very well for tables to eat on. 

We had also, besides this room, the use of our 
former chamber above, to go into when we thought 
fit ; and thither sometimes I withdrew when I found 
a desire for retirement and privacy, or had something 
on my mind to write, which could not so well be done 
in company. And indeed, about this time, my spirit 
was more than ordinarily exercised, though on very 
different subjects. For, on the one hand, the sense of 
the exceeding love and goodness of the Lord to me, in 
his gracious and tender dealings with me, did deeply 
affect my heart, and caused me to break forth in a song 
of thanksgiving and praise to him ; and on the other 
hand, a sense of the profaneness, debaucheries, cruel- 
ties, and other horrid impieties of the age, fell heavy 
on me, and lay as a pressing weight upon my spirit ; 
and I breathed forth the following hymn to God, in 
acknowledgment of his great goodness to me, profes- 
sion of my grateful love to him, and supplication to 
him for the continuance of his kindness to me in pre- 
serving me from the snares of the enemy, and keeping 
me faithful unto himself : — 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 305 

Thee, thee alone, God ! I fear. 

In thee do I confide ; 
Thy presence is to me more dear 

Thau all things else heside. 

Thy virtue, power, life, and light, 

Which in my heart do shine, 
Above all things are my delight : 

0, make them always mine ! 

Thy matchless love constrains my life, 

Thy life constrains my love, 
To be to thee as chaste a wife 

As is the turtle dove 

To her elect, espoused mate. 

Whom she will not forsake. 
Nor can be brought to violate 

The bond she once did make." 

Just so my soul doth cleave to thee. 

As to her only head. 
With whom she longs conjoin'd to be 

In bond of marriage-bed. 

But, ah, alas ! her little fort 

Is compassed about. 
Her foes about her thick resort. 

Within, and eke without. 

How numerous are they now grown ! 

How wicked their intent ; 
O, let thy mighty power be shown. 

Their mischief to prevent ! 

They make assaults on every side. 
But thou stand'st in the gap ; 



306 THE LIFE OF 

Their battering rams make breaches wide. 
But still thou mak'st them up. 

Sometimes they use alluring wiles. 

To draw into their power ; 
And sometimes weep like crocodiles. 

Bat all is to devour. 

Thus they heset my feeble heart 

With fraud, deceit, and guile. 
Alluring her from thee to start. 

And thy pure rest defile. 

But, oh ! the breathing and the moan. 

The sighings of the seed. 
The groanings of the grieved one. 

Do sorrows in me breed. 

And that immortal, holy birth. 

The offspring of thy breath. 
To whom thy love brings life and mirth. 

As doth thy absence, death. 

That babe, that seed, that panting child. 

Which cannot thee forsake. 
In fear to be again beguiled, 

Doth supplication make ; 

O, suffer not thy chosen one. 
Who puts her trust in thee. 
And hath made thee her choice alone. 
Ensnared again to be. 
Bkidewell, London, 1663. 

In this sort did I spend some leisure hours during 
my confinement in Bridewell, especially after our re- 
turn from Newgate thither ; when we had more liberty, 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 307 

and more opportunity, and room for retirement and 
thought ; for, as the poet said, 

" Carmina scribentes secessum et otia quserimt." 

They who would write in measure 
Retire where they may stillness have and leisure. 

And this privilege we enjoyed "by the indulgence of 
our keeper, whose heart God disposed to favor us ; 
so that both the master and his porter were very civil 
and kind to us, and had been so indeed all along. For 
when we were shut up before, the porter would readily 
let some of us go home in an evening, and stay at 
home till next morning; which was a great conven- 
iency to men of trade and business ; which I, being free 
from, forbore asking for myself, that I might not 
hinder others. This he observed, and asked me when 
I meant to ask to go out. I told him I had not much 
occasion nor desire ; yet at some time or other, perhaps 
I might have ; but when I had I would ask him but 
once, and if he then denied me I would ask him no more. 

After we were come back from Newgate, I had a 
desire to go thither again, to visit my friends who 
were prisoners there, more especially my dear friend, 
and father in Christ, Edward Burrough, who was then 
a prisoner, with many Friends more, in that part of 
Newgate which was then called Justice Hall. Where- 
upon the porter coming in my way, I asked him to let 
me go out for an hour or two, to see some friends of 
mine that evening. He, to enhance the kindness, 
made it a matter of some difficulty, and would have 
me stay till another night. I told him I would be at 
a word with him, for, as I had told him before that 
if he denied me I would ask him no more, so he 
should j&nd I would keep to it. He was no sooner 



308 THE LIFE OF 

gone out of my sight, than I espied his master cross- 
ing the court; wherefore, stepping to him, I asked 
him if he was willing to let me go out for a little while, 
to see some friends of mine that evening. Yes, said he, 
very willingly ; and thereupon away walked I to New- 
gate, where having spent the evening among friends, 
I returned in good time. 

Under this easy restraint we lay until the court sat 
at the Old Bailey again; and then, whether it was 
that the heat of the storm was somewhat abated, or 
by what other means Providence wrought it I know 
not, we were called to the bar, and, without farther 
question, discharged. Whereupon w^e returned to 
Bridewell again, and having raised some money among 
us, and therewith gratified both the master and his 
porter for their kindness to us, we spent some time in 
a solemn meeting, to return our thankful acknowl- 
edgment to the Lord, both for his preservation of us 
in prison, and deliverance of us out of it; and then, 
taking a solemn farewell of each other, we departed 
with bag and baggage. And I took care to return my 
hammock to the owner, with due acknowledgment of 
his great kindness in lending it to me. 

Being now at liberty, I visited more generally my 
friends that were still in prison, and more particularly 
my friend and benefactor William Penington, at his 
house, and then went to wait upon my master, Milton; 
with whom yet I could not propose to enter upon my 
intermitted studies, until I had been in Buckingham- 
shire, to visit my worthy friends Isaac Penington and 
his virtuous wife, and other friends in that country. 
Thitlier, therefore, I betook myself, and the weather 
being frosty, and the ways by that means clean and 
good; I walked it throughout in a day, and w^as re- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 309 

ceived "by my friends there with such demonstration of 
hearty kindness as made my journey very easy to me. 

I had spent in my imprisonment that twenty shil- 
lings which I had received of William Penington, and 
twenty of the forty which had been sent me from Mary 
Penington, and had the remainder then about me. 
That therefore I now returned to her, with due ac- 
knowledgment of her husband's and her great care of 
me, and liberality to me in the time of my need. She 
would have had me keep it ; but I begged of her to 
accept it from me again, since it was the redundancy 
of their kindness, and the other part had answered the 
occasion for which it was sent j and my importunity 
prevailed. 

I intended only a visit thither, not a continuance ; 
and therefore proposed, after I had stayed a few days, to 
return to my lodging and former course m London j 
but Providence ordered it otherwise. Isaac Penington 
had at that time two sons and one daughter, all then 
very young ; of whom the eldest son, John Penington, 
and the daughter, Mary, the wife of Daniel Wharley, 
are yet living at the writing of this. And being him- 
self both skilful and curious in pronunciation, he was 
very desirous to have them well grounded in the rudi- 
ments of the English tongue ; to which end he had 
sent for a man out of Lancashire, whom, upon inquiry, 
he had heard of, who was undoubtedly the most accu- 
rate English teacher that ever I met with, or have 
heard of His name was Richard Bradley. But as he 
pretended no higher than the English tongue, and had 
led them by grammar rules to the highest improvement 
they were capable of in that, he had taken his leave 
of them, and was gone up to London, to teach an 
English school of Friends' children there. 



o 



10 THE LIFE OF 



This put my friend to a fresh strait. He had sought 
for a new teacher to instmct his children in the Latin 
tongue, as the old had done in the English, hut had 
not yet found one. Wherefore, one evening as we sat 
together hy the fire in his bedchamher, which, for want 
of health, he kept, he asked me, his wife being by, if 
I would be so kind to him as to stay awhile with him 
till he could hear of such a man as he aimed at, and in 
the mean time enter his children in the rudiments of 
the Latin tongue. 

This question was not more unexpected than sur- 
prising to me ', and the more, because it seemed directly 
to thwart my former purpose and undertaking of endeav- 
oring to improve myself, by following my studies with 
my master, Milton, which this would give at least a 
present diversion from, and for how long I could not 
foresee. But the sense I had of the manifold obliga- 
tions I lay under to these worthy friends of mine, shut 
out all reasonings, and disposed my mind to an abso- 
lute resignation to their desire, that I might testify my 
gratitude by a willingness to do them any friendly ser- 
vice that I could be capable, of. 

And though I questioned my ability to carry on that 
work to its due height and proportion, yet, as that was 
not proposed, but an initiation only, by accidence, into 
grammar, I consented to the proposal, as a present ex- 
pedient till a more qualified person should be found, 
without further treaty, or mention of terms between 
us, than that of mutual friendshfp. And to render 
this digression from my studies the less uneasy to my 
mind, I recollected and often thought of that rule in 
Lilly, 

" Qui docet indoctos, licet indoctissimus esset. 
Ipse brevi reliquis doctior esse queat." 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 311 

He that the unlearn'd doth teach, may quickly be 
More learn'd than they, though most uulearued he. 

With this consideration I undertook this province, 
and left it not until I married, which was not till the 
year 1669, near seven years from the time I came 
thither. In which time, having the use of my friend's 
books, as well as of my own, I spent my leisure hours 
much in reading, not without some improvement to 
myself in my private studies ; which, with the good 
success of my labors bestowed on the children, and the 
agreeableness of conversation which I found in the 
family, rendered my undertaking more satisfactory, and 
my stay there more easy to me. 

But, alas ! not many days, not to say weeks, had I 
been there, ere we were almost overwhelmed with sor- 
row for the unexpected loss of Edward Burrough, who 
was justly very dear to us all. This not only good, 
but great good man, by a long and close continement 
in Newgate, through the cruel malice and malicious 
cruelty of Richard Brown, was taken away by hasty 
death, to the unutterable grief of very many, and un- 
speakable loss to the church of Christ in general. 

The particular obligation I had to him as the im- 
mediate instrument of my convincement, and high 
affection for him resulting therefrom, did so deeply 
affect my mind, that it was some pretty time before 
my passion could prevail to express itself in words ; so 
true I found that of the tragedian : — 

*' Curse leves loquuntur, 
Ingentes stupent." 

Light griefs break forth, and easily get vent, 
Great ones are through amazement closely pent. 

At length my Muse, not bearing to be any longer 



312 THE LIFE OF 

mute, brake forth in the following acrostic, which 
she called, 

A PATHETIC ELEGY ON THE DEATH OP THAT DEAR AND 
FAITHFUL SERVANT OF GOD, EDWARD BURROUGH, WHO 
DIED THE 14tH OF 12tH MONTH, 1662. 

And thus she introduceth it : — 

How long shall grief lie smother'd ! ah, how long 

Shall sorrow's signet seal my silent tongue ? 

How long shall sighs me suffocate ! and make 

My lips to quiver, and my heart to ache ? 

How long shall I with pain suppress my cries. 

And seek for holes to wipe my watery eyes ? 

Why may not I, hy sorrow thus opprest. 

Pour forth my grief into another's breast ? 

If that be true which once was said by one, 

That " he mourns truly, who doth mourn alone," * 

Then may I truly say, my grief is true. 

Since it hath yet been known to very few. 

Nor is it now my aim to make it known 

To those to whom these verses may be shown ; 

Bnt to assuage my sorrow-swollen heart, 

Which silence caused to taste so deep of smart. 

This is my end, that so I may prevent 

The vessel's bursting by a timely vent. 

" Quis talia fando 
Temperet a lachrymis ! " 

Who can forbear, when such things spoke he hears. 
His grave to water with a flood of tears ? 



Echo, ye woods ; resound, ye hollow places. 
Let tears and paleness cover all men's faces. 

* Ille dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet. 



THOMAS EL,LWOOD. 313 

Let groans, like claps of thunder, pierce the air, 
While I the cause of my just grief declare. 
O that mine eyes could, like the streams of Nile, 
O'erflow their watery hanks ; and thou, meanwhile, 
Drink in my trickling tears, thii'sty ground ! 
So mightst thou henceforth fruitfuUer be found. 

Lament, my soul, lament, thy loss is deep, 

And all that Sion love, sit down and weep ; 

Mourn, O ye virgins ! and let sorrow be 

Each damsel's dowry, and alas ! for me. 

Ne'er let my sobs and sighings have an end. 

Till I again embrace m' ascended friend ; 

And till I feel the virtue of his life 

To consolate me, and repress my grief : 

Infuse into my heart the oil of gladness 

Once more, and by its strength, remove that sadness 

Now pressing down my spirit, and restore 

Fully that joy I had in him before. 

Of whom a word I fain would stammer forth. 

Rather to ease my heart, than show his worth : 

His worth, my grief, which words too shallow are 

In demonstration fuUy to declare. 

Sighs, sobs, my best interpreters now are. 

Envy, begone ! Black Monms, quit the place ! 
Ne'er more, Zoilus, show thy wrinkled face 1 
Draw near, ye bleeding hearts, whose sorrows are 
Equal with mine ; in him ye had like share. 
Add all your losses up, and ye shall see 
Remainder will be nought but woe is me. 
Endeared lambs, ye that have the white stone. 
Do know full well his name, it is your own. 

Eternitiz'd be that right worthy name, 
Death hath but kill'd his body, not his fame. 



314 THE LIFE OF 

"Which in its brightness shall forever dwell. 
And, like a box of ointment, sweetly smell. 
Righteousness was his robe; bright majesty 
Deck'd his brow ; his look w^as heavenly. 

Bold was he in his Master's quarrel, and 
Undaunted ; faithful to his Lord's command. 
Requiting good for ill ; directing all 
Right in the way that leads out of the fall. 
Open and free to ev'ry thirsty lamb ; 
Unspotted, pure, clean, holy, without blame. 
Glory, light, splendor, lustre, was his crown, 
Happy his change to him ; — the loss our own. 



Unica post cineres virtus veneranda beatos 

Efficit. 

Virtue alone, which reverence ought to have. 

Doth make men happy, e'en beyond the grave. 



While I had thus been breathing forth my grief. 
In hopes thereby to get me some relief, 
I heard, methought, his voice say, " Cease to mourn. 
I live ; and though the veil of flesh once worn 
Be now stript off, dissolv'd, and laid aside. 
My spirit 's with thee, and shall so abide.'* 
This satisfied me ; down I threw my quill. 
Willing to be resign'd to God's pure will. 

Having discharged this duty to the memory of my 
deceased friend, I went on in my new province, in- 
structing my little pupils in the rudiments of the Latin 
tongue, to the mutual satisfaction of both their parents 
and myself. As soon as I had gotten a little money in 
my pocket, which, as a premium without compact, I 
received from them, I took the first opportunity to re- 
turn to my friend William Penington the money which 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 315 

he had so kindly fuiiiished me with in my need, at the 
time of my imprisonment in Bridewell, with a due ac- 
knowledgment of my obligation to him for it. He was 
not at all forward to receive it, so that I was fain to 
press it upon him. 

While thus I remained in this family, various sus- 
picions arose in the minds of some concerning me, with 
respect to Mary Penington's fair daughter Guli. For 
she having now arrived to a marriageable age, and 
being in all respects a very desirable woman, whether 
regard was had to her outward person, which wanted 
nothing to render her completely comely; or to the 
endowments of her mind, which were every M^ay ex- 
traordinary, and highly obliging ; or to h^r outward 
fortune, which was fair, and which with some hath not 
the last, nor the least place in consideration, — she was 
openly and secretly sought, and solicited by many, and 
some of them almost of every rank and condition ; good 
and bad, rich and poor, friend and foe. To whom, in 
their respective turns, till he at length came for whom 
she M^'as reserved, she carried herself with so much 
evenness of temper, such courteous freedom, guarded 
with the strictest modesty, that, as it gave encourage- 
ment or ground of hopes to none, so neither did it ad- 
minister any matter of offence or just cause of com- 
plaint to any. 

But such as were thus either engaged for themselves, 
or desirous to make themselves advocates for others, 
could not, I observed, but look upon me with an eye of 
jealousy and fear, that I would improve the oppor- 
tunities I had, by frequent and familiar conversation 
with her, to my own advantage, in working myself into 
her good opinion and favor, to the ruin of their pre- 
tences. According, therefore, to the several kinds and 



316 THE LIFE OF 

degrees of their fears of me, they suggested to her 
parents their ill surmises against me. 

Some stuck not to question the sincerity of my in- 
tentions in coming at first among the Quakers, urging, 
with a ''Why may it not he so ? " that the desire and 
hopes of ohtaining hy that means so fair a fortune, 
might he the prime and chief inducement to me to 
thrust myself amongst that people. But this surmise 
could find no place with those worthy friends of mine, 
her father-in-law and her mother, who, hesides the 
clear sense and sound judgment they had in themselves, 
knew very well upon what terms I came among them j 
how strait and hard the passage was to me ; how con- 
trary to all worldly interest, which lay fair another 
way ; how much I had suffered from my father for it ; 
and how regardless I had heen of attempting or seeking 
anything of that nature in these three or four years I 
had been amongst them. 

Some others, measuring me by the propensity of 
their own inclinations, concluded I would steal her, run 
away with her, and marry her ; which they thought I 
might be the more easily induced to do, from the ad- 
vantageous opportunities I frequently had of riding and 
walking abroad with her, by night as well as by day, 
without any other company than her maid. For so 
great indeed was the confidence that her mother had 
in me, that she thought her daughter safe if I was with 
her, even from the plots and designs that others had 
upon her. And so honorable were the thoughts she 
entertained concerning me, as would not suffer her to 
admit a suspicion that I could be capable of so much 
baseness as to betray the trust she, with so great 
freedom, reposed in me. 

I was not ignorant of the various fears which filled 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 317 

the jealous heads of some concerning me, neither was 
I so stupid, nor so divested of all humanity; as not to 
be sensible of the real and innate worth and virtue 
M^iich adorned that excellent dame, and attracted the 
eyes and hearts of so many with the greatest impor- 
tunity to seek and solicit her. But the force of truth 
and sense of honor suppressed whatever would have 
risen beyond the bounds of fair and virtuous friendship. 
For I easily foresaw, that if I should attempt anything 
in a dishonorable way, by force or fraud upon her, I 
should thereby bring a wound upon mine own soul, a 
foul scandal upon my religious profession, and an in- 
famous stain upon mine honor ; either of which was 
far more dear unto me than my life. Wherefore, hav- 
ing observed how some others had befooled themselves, 
by misconstruing her common kindness, expressed in 
an innocent, open, free, and familiar conversation, 
springing from the abundant affability, courtesy, and 
sweetness of her natural temper, to be the effect of a 
singular regard and peculiar affection to them, I re- 
solved to shun the rock on which I had seen so many 
run and split ; and remembering that saying of the 
poet, 

" Felix quern faciunt aliena pericula cautum," — • 

Happy 's he, 
Whom others' dangers wary make to be, — ■ 

I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage to- 
wards her, that I thereby preserved a fair reputation 
with my friends, and enjoyed as much of her ftivor and 
kindness, in a virtuous and firm friendship, as was fit 
for her to show, or for me to seek. 

About this time, my father, resolving to sell his 
estate, and having reserved for his own use such parts 



318 THE LIFE OF 

of his houseliold goods as he thought fit, not willing 
to take upon himself the trouhle of selling the rest, 
gave them unto me : whereupon I went down to Cro- 
well, and, having before given notice there and there- 
abouts that I intended a public sale of them, I sold 
them, and thereby put some money into my pocket. 
Yet I sold such things only as I judged useful; leav- 
ing the pictures and armor, of which there was some 
store there, unsold. 

Not long after this my father sent for me to come to 
him at London about some business ; which, when I 
came there, I understood was to join with him in the 
sale of his estate, which the purchaser required for his 
own satisfaction and safety, I being then the next heir 
to it in law. And although I might probably have 
made some advantageous terms for myself by standing 
off, yet when I was satisfied by counsel that there was 
no entail upon it, or right of reversion to me, but that 
he might lawfully dispose of it as he pleased, I readily 
joined with him in the sale, without asking or having 
the least gratuity or compensation ; no, not so much 
as the fee I had given to counsel, to secure me from 
any danger in doing it. 

There having been some time before this a very 
severe law made against the Quakers by name, and 
more particularly prohibiting our meetings under the 
sharpest penalties, of five pounds for the first offence, 
so called, ten pounds for the second, and banishment 
for the third, under pain of felony for escaping or re- 
turning without license, which law was looked upon 
to have been procured by the bishops, in order to bring 
us to a conformity to their way of worship, I wrote a 
few lines in way of dialogue between a Bishop and a 
Quaker, which I called 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 319 



CONFORMITY PRESSED AND REPRESSED. 

B. What! You are one of them that do deny 
To yield obedience by conformity. 

Q. Nay : we desire conformable to be. 

B. But unto what ? Q. " The image of the Son." 

B. What 's that to us ! we '11 have conformity 
"Unto our form. Q. Then we shall ne'er have done ; 
For, if your fickle minds should alter, we 
Should be to seek a new conformity. 
Thus who to-day conform to prelacy. 
To-morrow may conform to popery. 
But take this for an answer, bishop, we 
Cannot conform either to them or thee. 
For while to truth your forms are opposite. 
Whoe'er conforms thereto doth not aright. 

B. We '11 make such knaves as you conform, or lie 
Confiaed in, prison till ye rot and die. 

Q. Well, gentle bishop, I may live to see. 
For all thy threats, a check to cruelty ; 
But, in the mean time, I, for my defence. 
Betake me to my fortress, patience. 

Altliougli tlie storm raised by the act for banishment 
fell with the greatest weight and force upon some other 
parts, as at London, Hertford, etc., yet we were not in 
Buckingliamsliire wholly exempted therefrom, for a 
part of that shower reached ns also. For a Friend of 
Amersham, whose name was Edward Perot, or Parret, 
departing this life, and notice being given that his body 
would be buried there on such a day, which was the 
first day of the fifth month, 1665, the Friends of the 
adjacent parts of the country resorted pretty generally 
to the burial ; so that there was a fair appearance of 
Friends and neighbors, the deceased having been well- 



320 THE LIFE OF 

beloved by botb. After we had spent some time to- 
gether in the house, Morgan Watkins, who at that time 
happened to be at Isaac Penington's, being with ns, the 
body was taken up and borne on Friends' shouMers 
along the street, in order to be carried to the burying- 
ground, which was at the town's end, being part of an 
orchard belonging to the deceased, which he in his life- 
time had appointed for that service. 

It so happened that one Ambrose Bennet, a banister 
at law, and a justice of the peace for that county, riding 
through the town that morning in his way to Ayles- 
bury, was, by some ill-disposed j)erson or other, in- 
formed that there was a Quaker to be buried there that 
day, and that most of the Quakers in the country were 
come thither to the burial. Upon this he set up his 
horses and stayed ; and when we, not knowing anything 
of his design against us, went innocently forward to 
perform our Christian duty for the interment of our 
friend, he rushed out of his inn upon us, with the con- 
stables and a rabble of rude fellows whom he had 
gathered together, and, having his drawn sword in his 
hand, struck one of the foremost of the bearers with it, 
commanding them to set down the coffin. But the 
Friend who was so stricken, whose name was Thomas 
Dell, being more concerned for the safety of the dead 
body than his own, lest it should fall from his shoulder, 
and any indecency thereupon follow, held the coffin fast ; 
which the justice observing, and being enraged that his 
word, how unjust soever, was not forthwith obeyed, set 
his hand to the coffin, and with a forcible thrust threw 
it off from the bearers' shoulders, so that it fell to the 
ground in the midst of the street ; and there we were 
forced to leave it : for immediately thereupon the justice 
giving command for apprehending us, the constables 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 321 

■with, tlie rabble fell on us, and drew some^ and drove 
others into the inn, giving thereby an opportunity to 
the rest to wallc away. 

Of those that were thus taken I was one ; and being, 
with many more, put into a room under a guard, we 
were kept there till another justice, called Sir Thomas 
Clayton, whom Justice Bennet had sent for to join with 
him in committing us, was come. And then, being called 
forth severally before them, they picked out ten of us, and 
committed us to Aylesbury jail, for what neither we nor 
they knew : for we were not convicted of having either 
done or said anything which the law could take hold of; 
for they took us up in an open street, the king's high- 
way, not doing any unlawful act, but peaceably carrying 
and accompanying the corpse of our deceased friend, 
to bury it : which they would not suffer us to do, but 
caused the body to lie in the open street and in the 
cartway ', so that all the travellers that passed by, 
whether horsemen, coaches, carts, or wagons, were 
fain tv) break out of the way to go by it, that they 
might not drive over it, until it was almost night. 
And then, having caused a grave to be made in the 
unconsecrated part, as it is accounted, of that which is 
called the churchyard, they forcibly took the body from 
the wddow, whose right and property it was, and buried 
it there. 

When the justices had delivered us prisoners to the 
coustable, it being then late in the day, which was the 
seventh day of the week, he, not willing to go so far 
as Aylesbury (nine long miles) with us that night, nor 
to put the town to the charge of keeping us there that 
night and the first day and night following, dismissed 
us upon our parole to come to him again at a set hour 
on the second-day morning : whereupon we all went 



322 THE LIFE OF 

home to our respective habitations ; and, coining to him 
punctually according to promise, were by him, without 
guard, conducted to the prison. 

The jailer, whose name was Nathaniel Birch, had 
not long before behaved himself very wickedly, with 
great. rudeness and cruelty to some of our friends of the 
lower side of the county, whom he, combining with tlic 
clerk of the peace, whose name was Henry Wells, had 
contrived to get into his jail; and after they were 
legally discharged in court, detained them in prison ; 
using great violence, and shutting them up close in the 
common jail among the felons, because they would not 
give him his unrighteous demand of fees ; which they 
were the more straitened in, from his treacherous 
dealing Mdth them. And they having, through suf- 
fering, maintained their freedom, and obtained their 
liberty, we were the more concerned to keep what they 
had so hardly gained, and therefore resolved not to 
make any contract or tenns for either chamber-rent or 
fees, but to -demand a free prison, which we did. 

When we came in, the jailer was ridden out to wait 
on the judges, who came in that day to begin the assize, 
and his wife was somewhat at a loss how to deal with 
us ; but, being a cunning woman, she treated us with 
great appearance of courtesy, ojBFering us the choice of 
all her rooms ', and when we asked upon what terms, 
slie still referred us to her husband ; telling us she did 
not doubt but that he would be very reasonable and 
civil to us. Thus she endeavored to draw us to take 
j>ossession of some of her chambers at a venture, and 
trust to her husband's kind usage. But we, who, at 
the cost of our friends, had a proof of his kindness, 
wore too wary to be drawn in by the fair words of a 
woman; and therefore told her we would not settle 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 323 

anywhere till lier husband came home, and then would 
have a free prison, wheresoever he put us. Accord- 
ingly, walking all together into the court of the prison, 
in which was a well of very good water, and having 
beforehand sent to a Friend in the town, a widow 
w^oman, whose name was Sarah Lambarn, to bring us 
some bread and cheese, we sat down upon the ground 
round about the well, and when we had eaten, we 
drank of the water out of the well. Our great concern 
was for our friend Isaac Penington, because of the 
tenderness of his constitution ; but he was so lively in 
his spirit, and sa cheerfully given up to suifer, that he 
rather encouraged us than needed any encouragement 
from us. 

In this posture the jailer, when he came home, 
£)und us, and having before he came to us consulted 
his wife, and by her understood on what terms wc 
stood, when he came to us he hid his teeth, and, put- 
ting on a show of kindness, seemed much troubled 
that we should sit there abroad, especially his old friend 
Mr. Penington ; and thereupon invited us to come in, 
and take what rooms in his house we pleased. Wo 
asked upon what terms ; letting him know withal that 
we determined to have a free prison. He, like the sun 
and wind in the fable, that strove which of them should 
take from the traveller his cloak, having, like the 
wind, tried rough, boisterous, violent means to our 
friends before, but in vain, resolved now to imitate the 
sun, and shine as pleasantly as he could upon us ; 
wherefore he told us we should make the terms our- 
selves, and be as free as we desired : if we thought fit, 
when we were released, to give him anything, he 
would thank us for it ; and if not, he would demand 
nothing. Upon these terms we went in and disposed 



324 THE LIFE OF 

ourselves, some in the dwelling-house, others in the 
malt-house, where they chose to he. 

During the assize we were brought before Judge 
Morton, a sour, angry man, who very rudely reviled 
us ; but would not hear either us or the cause, but 
referred the matter to the two justices who had com- 
mitted us. They, when the assize wsis ended, sent 
for us to be brought before them at their inn, and fined 
us, as I remember, six shillings and eightpence apiece ; 
which we not consenting to pay, they committed us to 
prison again for one month from that time, on the act 
for banishment. 

When we had lain there that month, I, with another, 
went to the jailer to demand our liberty, which he 
readily granted, telling us the door should be opened 
when we pleased to go. This answer of his I reported 
to the rest of my friends there, and thereupon we 
realized among us a small sum of money, which they 
put into my hand for the jailer ; whereupon I, taking 
another with me, went to the jailer with the money 
in my hand, and reminding him of the terms upon 
which we accepted the use of his rooms, I told him 
that although we could not pay chamber rent or fees, 
yet, inasmuch as he had now been civil to us, we were 
willing to acknowledge it by a small token, and there- 
upon gave him the money. He, putting it into his 
pocket, said, '^ I thank you and your friends for it; and 
to let you see I take it as a gift, not a debt, I will not 
look on it to see how much it is." 

The prison door being then set open for us, we went 
out, and departed to our respective homes. But before 
I left the prison, considering one day with myself the 
different kinds of liberty and confinement, freedom and 
bondage, I took my pen and wrote the following 
enigma or riddle : — 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 325 

Lo ! here a riddle to the wise, 
In which a mystery there lies ; 
Read it therefore with that eye 
Which can disceru a mystery. 

THE RIDDLE, 

Some men are free, while they in prison lie ; 
Others, who ne'er saw prison, captives die. 

CAUTION. 

He that can receive it may ; 
H^ that cannot, let him say. 
And not be hasty, but suspend 
His judgment till he sees the end. 

SOLUTION. 

He only 's free indeed, that 's free from sin, 
And he is fastest bound, that 's bound therein. 

CONCLUSION. 

This is the liberty I chiefly prize ; 
The other, without this, I can despise. 

Some little time before I went to Aylesbury prison 
I was desired by my quondam master, Milton, to take 
a house for him in the neighborhood where I dwelt, 
that he might go out of the city for the safety of him- 
self and his family, the pestilence then growing hot in 
London. I took a pretty box for him in Giles Chal- 
fout, a mile from me, of which I gave him notice, and 
intended to wait on him and see him well settled in it, 
but was prevented by that imprisonment. But now 
being released, and returned home, I soon made a visit 
to him, to welcome him into the country. After some 
common discourses had passed between us, he called 
for a manuscript of his ; which, being brought, he de- 



Q 



26 THE LIFE OF 



livered to me, bidding me take it home with me and 
read it at my leisure 5 and when I had so done, return 
it to him with my judgment thereupon. 

Wlien I came home, and had set myself to read it, 
I found it was that excellent poem which he entitled 
'' Paradise Lost." After I had, with the best atten- 
tion, read it through, I made him another visit, and 
returned him his book, -with due acknowledgment of 
the favor he had done me in communicating it to me. 
He asked me how I liked it, and what I thought of it, 
which I modestly but freely told him ; and after some 
further discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, 
'^ Thou hast said much here of Paradise Lost, but what 
hast thou to say of Paradise Found f " He made me 
no answer, but sat some time in a muse; then brake 
off that discourse and fell upon another subject. After 
the sickness was over and the city well cleansed, and 
become safely habitable again, he returned thither. 
And when afterwards I went to wait on him there, 
which I seldom failed of doing whenever my occasions 
drew me to London, he showed me his second poem, 
called '' Paradise Begained," and in a pleasant tone 
said to me, '' This is owing to you, for you put it into 
my head by the question you put to me at Chalfont, 
which before I had not thought of." But from this 
digression I return to the family I then lived in. 

We had not been long at home, about a month per- 
haps, before Isaac Penington was taken out of his 
house in an arbitrary manner, by military force, and 
can-ied prisoner to Aylesbury jail again, where he lay 
three quarters of a year, with great hazard of his life, 
it being the sickness year, and the plague being not 
only in the town but in the jail. 

Meanwhile liis wife and family were turned out of 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 327 

his house, called the Grange, at Peter's Chalfont, by 
them who had seized upon his estate ; and the family 
being by that means broken up, some went one way, 
others another. Mary Penington herself, with her 
younger children, went down to her husband at Ayles- 
bury. Guli, with her maid, went to Bristol, to visit 
her former maid Anne Hersent, who was married to a 
merchant of that city, whose name was Thomas Biss ; 
and I went to Aylesbury with the children ; but not 
finding the place agreeable to my health, I soon left 
it, and returning to Chalfcmt took a lodging, and was 
dieted in the house of a friendly man ; and after some 
time went to Bristol, to conduct Guli home. Mean- 
while jNIary Penington took lodgings in a farmhouse 
called Bottrels, in the parish of Giles Chalfont, where, 
when we returned from Bristol, we found her. 

We had been there but a very little time before I 
was sent to prison again, upon this occasion : there 
was in those times a meeting once a month at the 
house of George Salter, a Friend, of Hedgerley, to 
which we sometimes went ; and Morgan Watkins 
being with us, he and I, with Guli and her maid, 
and one Judith Parker, wife of Dr. Parker, one of 
the College of Physicians at London, with a maiden 
daughter of theirs (neither of whom were Quakers, but, 
as acquaintance of Mary Penington, were with her on 
a visit), walked over to that meeting ; it being about 
the middle of the first month, and the weather good. 

This place was about a mile from the house of Am- 
brose Bennet, the justice, who the summer before had 
sent me and some other Friends to Aylesbury prison, 
from the burial of Edward Parret of Amersham ; and 
he, by what means I know not, getting notice not only 
of the meeting, but, as was supposed, of our being there, 



328 THE LIFE OF 

came himself to it, and as he came, catched up a stack- 
wood stick, hig enough to knock any man down, and 
hrought it with him hidden undec. his chmk. Being 
come to the house, he stood for a while without the 
door, and out of sight, listening to hear what was said, 
for Morgan was then speaking in the meeting. But 
certainly he heard very imperfectly, if it was true 
which we heard he said afterwards among his compan- 
ions, as an argument that Morgan was a Jesuit, viz. 
that in his preaching he trolled over his Latin as flu- 
ently as ever he heard any one. Whereas Morgan, 
good man, was better versed in Welsh than in Latin, 
which, I suppose, he had never learned ; I am sure he 
did not understand it. 

When this martial justice, who at Amersham had, 
with his drawn sw^ord, struck an unarmed man, who he 
knew would not strike again, had now stood some time 
abroad, on a sudden he rushed in among us, with the 
stackwood stick held up in his hand ready to strike, 
crying out, ''Make way there"; and an ancient wo- 
man not getting soon enough out of his way, he struck 
her with the stick a shrewd blo-w^ over the breast. Then 
pressing through the crowd to the place where Morgan 
stood, he plucked him from thence, and caused so great 
a disorder in the room that it brake the meeting up ; 
yet would not the people go away or disperse them- 
selves, but tarried to see what the issue would be. 

Then taking pen and paper, he sat down at the table 
among us, and asked several of us our names, which 
we gave, and he set down in writing. Amongst others 
he asked Judith Parker, the doctor's wife, what her 
name was, which she readily gave ; and thence taking 
occasion to discourse him, she so overmastered him by 
plear reason, delivered in flue language, that he, glad 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 329 

to be rid of her, struck out her name and dismissed her; 
yet did not she remove, but Icept her place amongst us. 
AVlien he had taken what number of names he thought 
fit, lie singled out half a dozen ; whereof Morgan was 
one, I another, one man more, and three women, of 
which the woman of the house was one, although her 
husband then was, and for divers years before had been, 
a prisoner in the Fleet for tithes, and had nobody to 
take care of his family and his business but his wife. 

Us six he committed to Aylesbury jail, which, when 
the doctor's wife heard him read to the constable, she 
attacked him again, and having put him in mind that it 
was a sickly time, and that the pestilence was reported 
to be in that place, she, in handsome terms, desired him 
to consider in time how he would answer the cry of 
our blood, if, by his sending us to be shut up in an 
infected place, we should lose our lives there. This 
made him alter his purpose, and by a new mittimus he 
sent us to the house of correction at Wycombe. And 
although he cpmmitted us upon the act for banishment, 
which limited a certain time for imprisonment, yet he 
in his mittimus limited no time, but ordered us to be 
kept till we should be delivered by due course of law ; 
so little regardful was he, though a lawyer, of keeping 
to the letter of the law. 

We were committed on the 13th day of the month 
called March, 1665, and were kept close prisoners there 
till the 7th day of the month called June, which was 
some days above twelve weeks, and much above what 
the act required. Then were we sent for to the jus- 
tice's house, and the rest being released, Morgan, 
Watkins, and I were required to find sureties for our 
appearance at the next assizes ; M^hich we refusing to 
do, were committed anew to our old prison, the house 



330 THE LIFE OF 

of correction at Wycombe, there to lie until the next 
assizes ; Morgan being in this second mittimus repre- 
sented as a notorious offender in preaching, and I, as 
being upon the second conviction, in order to banish- 
ment. There we lay till the 25th day of the same 
month ; and then, by the favor of the Earl of Ancram, 
being brought before him at his house, we were dis- 
charged from the prison, upon our promise to appear, 
if at liberty and in health, at the assizes : which we did, 
and were there discharged by proclamation. 

During my imprisonment in this prison, I betook 
myself for an employment to making of nets for kitchen 
service, to boil herbs, etc., in, which trade 1 learned of 
Morgan Watkins ; and selling some, and giving others, 
I pretty well stocked the Friends of that country with 
them. 

Though in that confinement I was not very well 
suited with company for conversation, Morgan's natural 
temper not being very agreeable to mine, yet we kept 
a fair and brotherly correspondence, as became friends, 
prison -fellows, and bedfellows, which M^e were. And 
indeed it was a good time, I think, to us all, for I found 
it so to me : the Lord being graciously pleased to visit 
my soul with the refreshing dews of his divine life, 
M'hereby my spirit was more and more quickened to 
him, and truth gained ground in me over the tempta- 
tions and snares of the enemy ; which frequently raised 
in my heart thanksgivings and praises unto the Lord. 
And at one time more especially the sense I had of the 
prosperity of truth, and the spreading thereof, filling 
my heart with abundant joy, made my cup overflow, 
and the following lines dropped out : — 

For truth I suffer bonds, in truth I live. 
And unto truth this testimony give. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 331 

That truth shall over all exalted he, 
And in dominion reign for evermore ; 

The child 's already born that this may see. 
Honor, praise, glory be to God therefore. 

And underneath, thus : — 

Though death and hell should against truth combine. 
Its glory shall through all their darkness shine. 

This I saw with an eye of faith, beyond the reach 
of human sense ; for. 

As strong desire 
Draws objects nigher 
In apprehension than indeed they are, 
I, w^ith an eye 
That pierced high. 
Did thus of truth's prosperity declare. 

After we had been discharged at the assizes, I re- 
turned to Isaac Penington's family at Bottrel's in Clial- 
font, and, as I remember, Morgan Watkins with me, 
leaving Isaac Penington a prisoner in Aylesbury jail. 
The lodgings we had in this farmhouse (Bottrel's) prov- 
ing too strait and inconvenient for the family, I took 
larger and better lodgings for them in Berrie Hous3 
at Amersham, whithsr we went at the time call(id 
Michaelmas, having spent the summer at the other 
place. 

Some time after was that memorable meeting ap- 
pointed to be holden at London, through a divine open- 
ing in the motion of life, in that eminent servant and 
prophet of God, George Fox, for the restoring and 
bringing in again of those who had gone out from truth, 
and the holy unity of Friends therein, by the means and 
ministry of John Perrot. 

This man came pretty early amongst Friends, and 



C>Q 



2 THE LIFE OF 



too early took upon him the ministerirJ office ; and he- 
ing, though little in person^ yet great in opinion of liim- 
self, nothing less would serve liini than to go and 
convert the Pope; in order whereunto, he having a 
better man than himself, John Lufc, to accompany him, 
travelled to Kome, where they had not hcen long ere 
they were taken up, and clapped into prison. Luff, as 
I rememher, was put into the inquisition, and Perrot in 
their bedlam or hospital for madmen. Luff died in 
l^rison, not without well-grounded suspicion of being 
murdered there ; but Perrot lay there some time, and 
now and then sent over an epistle to be printed here, 
written in such an affected and fantastic style, as might 
have induced an indifferent reader to believe they had 
suited the place of his confmement to his condition. 

After some time, through the mediation of Friends 
(who hoped better of him than he proved) with some 
person of note and interest there, he was released, and 
came back to England. And the report of his great 
sufferings there, far greater in report than in reality, 
joined with a singular show of sanctity, so far opened 
the hearts of many tender and compassionate Friends 
towards him, that it gave him the advantage of in- 
sinuating himself into their affections and esteem, and 
made way for the more ready propagation of that 
pecuhar eiTor of his, of keeping on the hat in time of 
prayer, as well public as private, unless they had an 
immediate motion at that time to put it off. 

NoM^, although I had not the least acquaintance with 
this man, not having ever exchanged a M^ord with him, 
though I knew him by sight; nor had I any esteem 
for him, for either his natural parts or ministerial gift, 
but rather a dislike of his aspect, preaching, and way 
of writing; yet this error of his being broached in 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 333 

the time of my infancy and weakness of judgment as 
to truth, while I lived privately in London and had 
little converse with Friends, I, amongst the many who 
were caught in that snare, was taken with the notion, 
as what then seemed to my M'^eak understanding suit- 
ahle to the doctrine of a spiritual dispensation. And 
the matter coming to warm debates, both in w^ords 
and writing, I, in a misguided zeal, was ready to enter 
the lists of contention about it ; not then seeing what 
spirit it proceeded from and was managed by, nor 
foreseeing the disorder and confusion in worship which 
must naturally attend it. But as I had no evil inten- 
tion or sinister end in engaging in it, but was simply 
betrayed by the specious pretence and show of greater 
spirituality, the Lord, in tender compassion to my 
soul, was graciously pleased to open my understanding, 
and give me a clear sight of the enemy's design in this 
work, and drew me oflF from the practice of it, and to 
bear testimony against it as occasion offered. 

But when that solemn meeting w^as appointed at 
London for a travail in spirit on behalf of those who 
had thus gone out, that they might rightly return, 
and be sensibly received into the unity of the body 
again, my spirit rejoiced, and with gladness of heart 
I went to it, as did many more of both city and country ; 
and, with great simplicity and humility of mind, did 
honestly and openly acknowledge our outgoing, and 
taite condemnation and shame to ourselves. And 
some that lived at too remote a distance, in this nation 
as well as beyond the seas, upon notice of that meet- 
ing and the intended service of it, did the like by writ- 
ing, in letters directed to and openly read in the meeting, 
which for that purpose was continued many days. 

Thus, in the motion of life, were the healing waters 



334 THE LIFE OF 

stirred, and many, through the virtuous power thereof^ 
restored to soundness; and indeed not many lost. 
And though most of those who thus returned were 
such as with myself had before renounced the error 
and forsaken the practice, yet did we sensibly find 
that forsaking without confessing, in case of public 
scandal, was not sufficient; but that an open ac- 
knowledgment of open offences, as well as forsaking 
them, was necessary to the obtaining of complete 
remission. 

Not long after this, George Fox was moved of the 
Lord to travel through the country, from county to 
county, to advise and encourage Friends to set up 
Monthly and Quarterly Meetings, for the better order- 
ing of the affairs of the church,, in taking care of the 
poor, and exercising a true gospel discipline, for a 
due dealing with any that might walk disorderly 
under our name, and to see that such as should marry 
among us did act fairly and clearly in that respect. 

When he came into this county, I was one of the 
many Friends that were with him at the meeting for 
that purpose. And afterwards I travelled with Guli 
and her maid into the West of England, to meet him 
there and to visit Friends in those parts ; and we went 
as far as Topsham, in Devonshire, before we found 
him. He had been in Cornwall, and was then return- 
ing, and came in unexpectedly at Topsham, where we 
then were providing, if he had not then come thither, 
to go that day towards Cornwall. But after he was 
come to us we turned back with him through Devon- 
shire, Somersetshire, and Dorsetshire, having generally 
very good meetings where he was ; and the work he 
was chiefly concerned in went on very prosperously 
and well, without any opposition or dislike ; save that 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 335 

in the general meeting of Friends in Dorsetshire, a 
quarrelsome man, who had gone out from Friends in 
John Perrot's business, and had not come rightly in 
again, but continued in the practice of keeping on his 
hat in the time of prayer, to the great trouble and 
offence of Friends, began to cavil and raise disputes, 
which occasioned some interruption and disturbance. 

Not only George and Alexander Parker, who were 
with him, but divers of the ancient Friends of that 
county, endeavored to quiet that troublesome man, and 
make him sensible of his error ; but his unruly spirit 
M^ould still be opposing what was said unto him, and 
justifying himself in that practice. This brought a 
great weight and exercise upon me, who sat at a dis- 
tance in the outward part of the meeting ; and after I 
had for some time borne the burthen thereof, I stood 
up in the constraining power of the Ijord, and, in great 
tenderness of spirit, declared unto the meeting, and to 
that person more particularly, how it had been with 
me in that respect ; how I had been betrayed into that 
wrong practice ; how strong I had been therein, and 
how the Lord had been graciously pleased to show me 
the evil thereof, and recover me out of it. This com- 
ing unexpectedly from me, a young man, a stranger, 
and one who had not intermeddled with the business 
of the meeting, had that effect upon the caviller, that 
if it did not satisfy him, it did at least silence him, and 
made him for the present sink down and be still, with- 
out giving any further disturbance to the meeting. 
And the Friends were well pleased with this unlooked- 
for testimony from me ; and I was glad that I had that 
opportunity to confess to the truth, and to acknowledge 
once more, in so public a manner, the mercy and 
goodness of the Lord to me therein. 



336 THE LIFE OF 

By tlie time we came back from this journey the 
summer was pretty far gone ; and the following winter 
I spent with the children of the family, as before, 
without any remarkable alteration in my circumstances, 
until the^next spring, when I found in myself a dis- 
position of mind to change my single life for a married 
state. I had alM'ays entertained so high a regard for 
marriage, as it was a divine institution, that I held it 
not lawful to make it a sort of political trade to rise in 
the world by. And therefore, as I could not but in my 
judgment blame such as I found made it their business 
to hunt after and endeavor to gain those who were 
accounted great fortunes, not so much regarding what 
she is as what she has, but making wealth the chief, 
if not the only thing aimed at, so I resolved to avoid, 
in my own practice, that course, and how much soever 
my condition might have prompted me, as well as 
others, to seek advantage that way, never to engage 
on the account of riches, nor at all to marry till judicious 
affection drew me to it, which I now began to feel at 
work in my breast. 

The object of this affection was a Friend whose 
name was Mary Ellis, whom for divers years I had had 
an acquaintance with in the way of common friend- 
ship only, and in whom I thought I then saw those 
fair prints of truth and solid virtue, which I after- 
wards found in a sublime degree in her; but what her 
condition in the world was as to estate, I was wholly 
a stranger to, nor desired to know. I had once, a year 
or two before, had an opportunity to do her a small 
piece of service, which she wanted some assistance in ; 
wherehi I acted with all sincerity and freedom of mind, 
not expecting or desiring any advantage by her, or re- 
ward from her, being very m- ell satisfied in the act itself, 
that I had served a friend, and helped the helpless. 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 337 

That little intercourse of common kindness between 
us ended without the least thought (I am verily per- 
suaded on her part, and well assured on my own) of 
any other or further relation than that of a free and 
fair friendship ; nor did it at that time lead us into 
any closer conversation or more intimate acquaintance 
one with the other, than had been before. But some 
time (and that a good while) after, I found my heart 
secretly dra-wm and inclining towards her ; yet was I 
not hasty in proposing, but waited to feel a satisfactory 
settlement of mind therein, before I made any step 
thereto. 

After some time, I took an opportunity to open my 
mind therein unto my much-honored friends Isaac and 
Mary Penington, who then stood parentiim loco, in 
the place or stead of parents to me. They, having 
solemnly weighed the matter, expressed their unity 
therewith ; and indeed their approbation thereof was no 
small confirmation to me therein. Yet took I further 
deliberation, often retiring in spirit to the Lord, and 
crying to him for direction, before I addressed myself 
to her. At length, as I was sitting all ahme, wait- 
ing upon the Lord for counsel and guidance in this, 
in itself and to me, so important affair, I felt a word 
sweetly arise in me, as if I heard a voice, which said, 
^' Go, and prevail." And faith springing in my heart 
with the word, I immediately arose and went, nothing 
doubting. 

When I was come to her lodgings, which were about 
a mile from me, her maid told me she was in her 
chamber ; for having been under some indisposition of 
body, which had obliged her to keep her chamber, she 
had not yet left it; wherefore I desired the maid to 
acquaint her mistress that I was come to give her a 



338 THE LIFE OF 

visit, whereupon I was invited to go up to her. And 
after some little time spent in common conversa- 
tion, feeling my spirit weightily concerned, I solemnly 
opened my mind unto her, with respect to the particular 
business I came about ; which I soon perceived was a 
great surprisal to her; for she had taken in an aj^pre- 
hension, as others had done, that mine eye had been 
fixed elsewhere, and nearer home. 

I used not many words to her ; but I felt a divine 
power went along with the words, and fixed the matter 
expressed by them so fast in her breast that, as she 
afterwards acknowledged to me, she could not shut it 
out. I made at that time but a short visit ; for having 
told her I did not expect an answer from her now, but 
desired she would, in the most solemn manner, weigh 
the proposal made, and in due time give me such an 
answer theremito as the Lord should give her, I took 
my leave of her and departed; leaving the issue to the 
Lord. 

1 had a journey then at hand, which I foresaw would 
take me up two weeks* time. Wherefore, the day be- 
fore I was to set out, I went to visit her again, to ac- 
quaint her with my journey, and excuse my absence ; 
not yet pressing her for an answer, but assuring her 
that I felt in myself an increase of affection to her, and 
hoped to receive a suitable return from her in the 
Lord's time; to whom, in the mean time, I committed 
both her, myself, and the concern between us. And 
indeed I found, at my return, that I could not have left 
it in a better hand, for the Lord had been my advocate 
in my absence, and had so far answered all her objec- 
tions, that when T came to her again, she rather ac- 
quainted me with them than urged them. From that 
time forwards we entertained each other Mdth affection- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 339 

ate kindness, in order to marriage; whicli yet we did 
not hasten to, but went on deliberately. Neither did I 
use those vulgar ways of courtship, by making frequent 
and rich presents; not only for that my outward con- 
dition would not comport with the expense, but be- 
cause I liked not to obtain by such means, but preferred 
an unbribed affection. 

While this affair stood thus with me I had occasion 
to take another journey into Kent and Sussex ; which 
yet I would not mention here, but for a particular acci- 
dent which befell me on the way. The occasion of this 
journey was this : Mary Penington's daughter Guli, 
intending to go to her uncle Springett's, in Sussex, and 
from thence amongst her tenants, her mother desired 
me to accompany her, and assist her in her business 
with her tenants. 

We tarried at London the first night, and set out 
next morning on the Tunbridge road ; and Seven Odk 
lying in our way, we put in there to bait : but truly we 
had much ado to get either provisions or room for our- 
selves or our horses, the house was so filled with guests, 
and those not of the better sort. For the Duke of York 
being, as we were told, on the road that day for the 
Wells, divers of his guards, and the meaner sort f»f his 
retinue, had nearly filled all the inns there. I left John 
Gigger, who waited on Guli in this journey, and was 
afterwards her menial servant, to take care for the 
horses, while I did the like, as well as I could, for her. 
I got a little room to put her into, and having shut her 
into it, went to see what relief the kitchen would afford 
us ; and with much ado, by praying hard and paying 
dear, I got a small joint of meat from the spit, which 
served rather to stay than satisfy our stomachs, for we 
were all pretty sharp set. 



340 THE LIFE OF 

After this short repast, being weary of our quarters, 
we quickly mounted, and took the road again, willing 
to hasten from a place where we found nothing hut 
rudeness : a knot of [rude people] soon followed us, 
designing, as we afterwards found, to put an ahuse 
upon us, and make themselves sport with us. We 
had a spot of fine smooth sandy way, whereon the 
horses trod so softly, that we heard them not till one 
of them was upon us. I was then riding abreast with 
Guli and discoursing with her; when on a sudden, hear- 
ing a little noise, and turning my eye that way, I saw 
a horseman coming up on the further side of her horse, 
having his left arm stretched out, just ready to take her 
about the waist, and pluck her off backwards from her 
own horse, to lay her before him upon his. I had but 
just time to thrust forth my stick between him and her, 
and bid him stand off ', and at the same time reining 
my horse to let hers go before me, thrust in between 
her and him, and, being better mounted than he, my 
horse run him off. But his horse being, though 
weaker than mine, yet nimble, he slipped by me, 
and got up to her on the near side, endeaAairing to 
offer abuse to her, to prevent which I thrust in upon 
him again, and in our jostling we drove her horse quite 
out of the way, and almost into the next hedge. 

While we were thus contending, I heard a noise of 
loud laughter behind us, and, turning my head that 
way, I saw three or four horsemen more, who could 
scarce sit their horses for laughing, to see the sport 
their companion made with us. From thence I saM' it 
was a plot laid, and that tliis rude fellow was not to be 
dallied with ; wherefore I bestirred myself the more to 
keep him oft', admonishing him to take warning in time, 
and give over his abusiveness, lest he repented too lat^. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 341 

He had in his hand a short thick truncheon, which he 
held up at me ; on which laying hold with a strong 
gripe, I suddenly wrenched it out of his hand, and 
threw it at as great a distance behind me as I could. 

While he rode back to fetch his truncheon, I called 
up honest John Gigger, who was indeed a right honest 
man, and of a temper so thoroughly peaceable that 
he had not hitherto put in at all. But now I roused 
him, and bid him ride so close up to his mistress's horse 
on the further side, that no horse might thrust in 
between, and I would endeavor to guard the near side. 
But he, good man, not thinking it perhaps decent 
enough for him to ride so near his mistress, left room 
enough for another to ride between. And, indeed, so 
soon as our brute had recovered his truncheon, he came 
up directly thither, and had thrust in again, had not I, 
by a nimble turn, chopped in upon him and kept him 
at bay. I then told him I had hitherto, spared him, 
but wished hiin not to provoke me further. This I 
spake with such a tone, as bespake a high resentment 
of the abuse put upon us, and, withal, pressed so close 
upon him with my horse that I suffered him not to 
come up any more to Guli. 

This, his companions, who kept an equal distance 
behind us, both heard and saw, and thereupon two of 
them, advancing, came up to us. I then thought I 
might likely have my hands full, but Providence turned 
it otherwise : for they, seeing the contest rise so high, 
and probably fearing it would rise higher, not knowing 
where it might stop, came in to part us ; which they 
did by taking him away, one of them leading his horse 
by the bridle, and the other driving him on with his 
whip, and so carried him off. 

One of their company stayed yet behind. And it so 



342 THE LIFE OF 

happening that a great shower just then fell, we be- 
took ourselves for shelter into a thick and well-spread 
oak which stood hard by. Thither also came that 
other person, who wore the duke's livery ; and while 
we put on our defensive garments against the weather, 
which then set in to be wet, he took the opportunity to 
discourse with me about the man that had been so rude 
to us, endeavoring to excuse him, by alleging that he 
had drunk a little too liberally. I let him know that one 
vice would not excuse another ; that although but one 
of them was actually concerned in the abuse, yet both 
he and the rest of them were abettors of it, and acces- 
sories to it; that I was not ignorant whose livery 
they wore j and was well assured their lord would not 
maintain them in committing such outrages upon travel- 
lers on the road, to our injury and his dishonor; that I 
understood the duke was coming down, and that they 
might expect to be called to an account for this rude 
action. He then begged hard that we would pass by 
the offence, and make no complaint to their lord, for 
he knew, he said, the duke would be very severe, and 
it would be the utter ruin of the young man. When 
he had said what he could, he went off before us, 
without any ground given him to expect favor ; and 
when we had fitted ourselves for the weather, we fol- 
lowed after at our own pace. 

When we came to Tunbridge, I set John Gigger 
foremost, bidding him lead on briskly through the 
town, and, placing Guli in the middle, I came close up 
after her, that I might both observe and interpose, if 
any fresh abuse should be offered her. We were ex- 
pected, I perceived, for though it rained very hard, the 
street was thronged with men, who looked very ear- 
nestly upon us, but did not put any affront upon us. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 343 

We had a good way to ride beyond Timbridge, and 
beyond the Wells, in byways among the woods, and 
were the later for the hindrance we had had on the way. 
"And when, being come to Harbert Springett's house, 
Guli acquainted her uncle what danger and trouble 
she had gone through on the way, he resented it so 
high that he would have had the persons been prose- 
cuted for it. But since Providence had interposed, and 
so well preserved and delivered her, she chose to pass 
by the offence. 

When Guli had finished the business she went upon 
we returned home, and I delivered her safe to her 
glad mother. From that time forward I continued my 
visits to my best-beloved friend until we married, 
which was on the 28th day of the eighth month, called 
October, in the year 1669. We took each other in a 
select meeting of the ancient and grave Friends of 
that country, holden in a Friend's house, where in 
those times not only the Monthly Meeting for business, 
but the public meeting for worship was sometimes 
kept. A very solemn meeting it was, and in a 
weighty frame of spirit we were, in which we sensi- 
bly felt the Lord with us, and joining us ; the sense 
whereof remained with us all our lifetime, and was 
of good service, and very comfortable to us on all 
occasions. 

My next care, after marriage, was to secure my wife 
what moneys she had, and with herself bestowed upon 
me. For I held it would be an abominable crime 
in me, and savor of the highest ingratitude, if I, 
though but through negligence, should leave room for 
my father, in case I should be taken away suddenly, 
to break in upon her estate and deprive her of any 
part of that which had been and ought to be her own. 



344 THE LIFE OF 

Wherefore with the first opportunity (as I remember 
the very next day, and before 1 knew particularly what 
she had) I made my will, and thereby secured to her 
whatever I was possessed of, as well all that which 
she brought, either in moneys or in goods, as that little 
which I had before I married her } which indeed was 
but little, yet more (by all that little) than I had ever 
given her ground to expect with me. 

She had indeed been advised by some of her rela- 
tions to secure before marriage some part., at least, of 
what she had, to be at her own disposal. Which, 
though perhaps not wholly free from some tincture of 
self-interest in the proposer, was not in itself the worst 
of counsel. But the worthiness of her mind, and the 
sense of the ground on which she received me, would 
not suffer her to entertain any suspicion of me ; and 
this laid on me the greater obligation, in point of grati- 
tude as well as of justice, to regard and secure to her, 
which I did. 

I had not been long married before I was solicited 
by my dear friends Isaac and Mary Penington, and her 
daughter Guli, to take a journey into Kent and Sussex, 
to account with their tenants and overlook their estates 
in those counties, which before I was married I had 
had the care of; and accordingly the journey I under- 
took, though in the depth of winter. 

My travels into those parts were the more irksome 
to me from the solitariness I underwent, and want of 
suitable society. For my business lying among the 
tenants, who were a rustic sort of people, of various 
persuasions and humors, but not Friends, I had little 
opportunity of conversing with Friends ; though I con- 
trived to be with them as much as I could, especially 
on the first day of the week. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 345 

But that which made my present journey more 
heavy to me was the sorrowful exercise which was 
newly fallen upon me from my father. He had, upon 
my first acquainting him with my inclination to marry, 
and to whom, not only very much approved the match, 
but voluntarily offered, without my either asking or 
expecting, to give me a handsome portion at present, 
with assurance of an addition to it hereafter. And he 
not only made this offer to me in private, but came 
down from London into the country on purpose to be 
better acquainted with my friend, and did there make 
the same proposal to her, offering also to give secu- 
rity to any friend or relation of hers for the perform- 
ance 5 which offer she most generously declined, leaving 
him as free as she found him. But after we were 
inan'ied, notwithstanding such his promise, he wholly 
declined the performance of it, under pretence of our 
not being married by the priest and liturgy. This 
nsage and evil treatment of us thereupon was a great 
trouble to me ; and when I endeavored to soften him 
in the matter he forbid me speaking to him of it any 
more, and removed his lodging that I might not find 
him. 

The grief I conceived on this occasion was not for 
any disappointment to myself or to my wife ; for 
neither she nor I had any strict or necessary depen- 
dence upon that promise ; but my grief was for the 
cause assigned by him as the ground of it, which was, 
that our marriage was not by priest or liturgy. And 
surely, hard would it have been for my spirit to bear 
up under the weight of this exercise, had not the Lord 
been exceeding gracious to me, and supported me with 
the inflowings of his love and life, wherewith he vis- 
ited my soul in my travail : the sense whereof raised 



346 THE LIFE OF 

in my heart a thankful rememhrance of his manifold 
kindnesses in his former dealings with me. 

About this time (as I remember) it was that some 
bickerings happening between some Baptists and some 
of the people called Quakers, in or about High Wy- 
combe, in Buckinghamshire, occasioned by some re- 
flecting words a Baptist preacher had publicly uttered 
in one of their meetings there against the Quakers in 
general, and William Penn in particular, it came at 
length to this issue, that a meeting for a public dispute 
was appointed to be holden at West Wycombe, be- 
tween Jeremy Ives, who espoused his brother's cause, 
and William Penn. To this meeting, it being so near 
me, I went, rather to countenance the cause than for 
any delight I took in such work ; for indeed I have 
rarely found the advantage equivalent to the trouble 
and danger arising from those contests : for which cause 
I would not choose them, as, being justly engaged, I 
M^ould not refuse them. 

The issue of this proved better than I expected. 
For Ives having undertaken an ill cause, to argue 
against the divine light and universal grace conferred 
by God on all men ; when he had spent his stock of 
arguments, which he brought with him on that subject, 
finding his work go on heavily and the auditory not 
well satisfied, stepped down from his seat and departed, 
with purpose to break up the assembly. But, except 
some few of his party who followed him, the people 
generally stayed, and were the more attentive to what 
was afterwards delivered amongst them ; which Ives, 
understanding, came in again, and, in an angry railing 
manner expressing his dislike that we went not away 
when he did, gave more disgust to the people. 

After the meeting was ended, I sent to my friend 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 347 

Isaac Penington (by his son and servant, who returned 
home, though it was late, that evening) a short account 
of the business, in the following distich : — 

Prsevaluit Veritas : iiiimici terga dedere : 
Nos sumus in tuto. Laus tribiienda Deo. 

Which may be thus Englished : — 

Truth hath prevail'd : the enemies did fly : 
We are in safety. Praise to God on high. 

But both they and we had quickly other work found 
us : it soon became a stormy time. The clouds had 
been long gathering, and threatened a tempest. The 
parliament had sat some time before, and hatched that 
unaccountable law, which was called the Conventicle 
Act : if that may be allowed to be called a law, by 
whomsoever made, which was so directly contrary to 
the fundamental laws of England, to common justice, 
equity, and right reason , as this manifestly was. 

No sooner had the bishops obtained this law for sup- 
pressing all meetings but their own, than some of the 
clergy of most ranks, and some others too, who were 
overmuch bigoted to that party, bestirred themselves 
with might and main to find out and encourage the 
most profligate wretches to turn informers, and to get 
such persons into parochial offices as would be most 
obsequious to their commands, and ready at their beck, 
to put it into the most rigorous execution. Yet it took 
not alike in all places ; but some were forwarder in the 
work than others, according as the agents intended to 
be chiefly employed therein had been predisposed 
thereunto. 

For in some parts of the nation care had been timely 
taken, by some not of the lowest rank, to choose out 
some particular persons, men of sharp wit, close coun- 



348 THE LIFE OF 

teiiances, pliant tempers, and deep dissimulation, and 
send them forth among the sectaries, so called, with 
instructions to thrust themselves into all societies, con- 
form to all or any sort of religious profession, Proteus- 
like, change their shapes, and transform themselves 
from one religious appearance to another, as occasion 
should require ; in a word, to be all things to all, not 
that they might win some, but that they might, if 
possible, ruin all, at least many. 

But though it pleased the Divine Providence, who 
sometimes vouchsafed to bring good out of evil, to put 
a stop, in a great measure at least, to the persecution 
here begun, yet in other parts both of the city and 
country, it was carried on with great severity and rigor j 
the worst of men, for the most part, being set up for 
informers ; the worst of magistrates encouraging and 
abetting them ; and the worst of the priests, who first 
began to blow the fire, now seeing h(>w it took, spread, 
and blazed, clapping their hands and hallooing them 
on to this evil work. 

Scarce was the before-mentioned storm of outward 
persecution from the government blown over, when 
Satan raised another storm of another kind against us 
on this occasion. The foregoing stonn of persecution, 
as it lasted long, so in many parts of the nation, and 
particularly at London, it fell very sharp and violent, 
especially on the Quakers. For they having no refuge 
but God alone to fly unto, could not dodge and shift to 
avoid the suffering, as others of other denominations 
could, and in their worldly wisdom and policy did j 
altering their meetings M'ith respect both to place and 
time, and forbearing to meet when forbidden, or kept 
out of their meeting-houses. So that of the several 
sorts of dissenters, the Quakers only held up public tes- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 349 

timony, as a standard or ensign of religion, by keeping 
their meetings duly and fully, at the accustomed times 
and places, so long as they were suffered to enjoy the 
use of their meeting-houses ; and when they were shut 
up, and Friends kept out of them by force, they assem- 
bled in the streets, as near to their meeting-houses as 
they could. 

This bold and truly Christian behavior in the Qua- 
kers disturbed and not a little displeased the persecutors, 
who, fretting, complained that the stubborn Quakers 
brake their strength, and bore off' the blow from those 
other dissenters, whom as they most feared, so they 
principally aimed at. For indeed the Quakers they 
rather despised than feared, as being a people from 
whose peaceable principles and practices they held them- 
selves secure from danger; whereas having suffered 
severely, and that lately too, by and under the other 
dissenters, they thought they had just cause to be ap- 
prehensive of danger from them, and good reason to 
suppress them. 

On the other hand, the more ingenious amongst other 
dissenters of each denomination, sensible of the ease 
they enjoyed by our bold and steady suffering, which 
abated tlie heat of the persecutors, and blunted the edge 
of the sword before it came to them, frankly acknowl- 
edged the benefit received ; calling us the bulwark that 
kept off the force of the stroke from them ; and praying 
that we might be preserved, and enabled to break the 
strength of the enemy ; nor could some of them forbear, 
those especially who were called Baptists, to express 
their kind and favorable opinion of us and of the princi- 
ples we professed, which emboldened us to go through 
that, which but to hear of was a terror to them. 

This their good-will raised ill-will against us in 



350 THE LIFE OF 

some of their teachers, who, though willing to reap the 
advantage of a shelter, hy a retreat behind us during 
the time that the storm lasted, yet partly through an 
evil emulation, partly through fear lest they should lose 
some of those members of tlieir society, Avho had dis- 
covered such favorable thoughts of our principles and 
us, they set themselves, as soon as the storm was over, 
to represent us in as ugly a dress and in as frightful a 
figure to the world as they could invent and put upon 
us. In order whereunto, one Thomas Hicks, a preacher 
among the Baptists at London, took upon him to write 
several pamphlets successively, under the title of '' A 
Dialogue between a Christian and a Quaker " ; which 
were so craftily contrived that the unwary reader 
might conclude them to be not merely fictions, but real 
discourses, actually held between one of the people 
called Quakers and some other person. In these feigned 
dialogues, Hicks, having no regard to justice or com- 
mon honesty, had made his counterfeit Quaker say 
whatsoever he thought would render him, one while 
sufficiently erroneous, another while ridiculous enough ; 
forging, in the Quaker's name, some things so abomina- 
bly false, other things so intolerably foolish, as could 
not reasonably be supposed to have come into the con- 
ceit, much less to have dropped from the lip or pen of 
any that went under the name of a Quaker. 

These dialogues (shall I call them, or rather diabo- 
logues) were answered by our friend William Penn, in 
two books ; the first being entitled '' Reason against 
Railing," the other ^' The Counterfeit Christian de- 
tected " ; in which Hicks being charged with manifest 
as well as manifold forgeries, perversions, downright 
lies and slanders against the people called Quakers in 
general, William Penn, George Whitehead, and divers 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 351 

others by name ; complaint was made, by way of ap- 
peal, to the Baptists in and about London, for justice 
against Thomas Hicks. 

Those Baptists, who it seems were in the plot with 
Hicks, to defame at any rate, right or wrong, the 
people called Quakers, taking the advantage of the 
absence of William Peun and Gleorge Whitehead, who 
were the persons most iunnediately concerned, and who 
were then gone a long journey on the service of 
truth, to be absent from the city in all probability for 
a considerable time, appointed a public meeting in 
one of their meeting-houses, under pretence of calling 
Thomas Hicks to account, and hearing the charge 
made good against him ; but with design to give the 
greater stroke to the Quakers, when they who should 
make good the charge against Hicks could not be 
present. For upon their sending notice to the lodg- 
ings of William Penn and George Whitehead of their 
intended meeting, they were told by several Friends that 
both William Penn and George Whitehead were from 
home, travelling in the counties, uncertain where ; and 
therefore could not be informed of their intended meet- 
ing, either by letter or express, within the time by 
them limited ; for which reason they were desired to 
defer the meeting till they could have notice of it and 
time to return, that they might be at it. But these 
Baptists, whose design was otherwise laid, would not 
be prevailed with to defer the meeting, but, glad of the 
advantage, gave their brother Hicks opportunity to 
make a colorable defence, where he had his party to 
help him, and none to oppose him ; and having made 
a mock show of examining him and his works of 
darkness, they, in fine, having heard one side, ac- 
quitted him. 



352 THE LIFE OF 

This gave just occasion for a new complaint and de- 
mand of justice against him and them. For as soon 
as William Penn returned to London, he in print ex- 
hibited his complaint of this unfair dealing, and de- 
manded justice, by a rehearing of the matter in a 
public meeting, to be appointed by joint agreement. 
This went hardly down with the Baptists, nor could it 
be obtained from them without great importunity and 
hard pressing. At length, after many delays and 
tricks used to shift it off, constrained by necessity, they 
yielded to have a meeting at their own meeting-house 
in Barbican, London. 

There, amongst other friends, was I, and undertook 
to read our charge there against Thomas Hicks, which 
not without much difficulty I did ; they, inasmuch as 
the house was theirs, putting all the inconveniences 
they could upon us. The particular passages and 
management of this meeting (as also of that other 
which followed soon after, and which, on their refusing 
to give us any other public meeting, we were fain to 
appoint in our own meeting-house, by Wheeler Street, 
near Spitalfields, London, and gave them timely no- 
tice) I forbear here to mention ; there being in print a 
narrative of each, to which, for particular information, 
I refer the reader. 

But to this meeting Thomas Hicks w^ould not come, 
but lodged himself at an alehouse hard by ; yet sent 
his brother Ives, with some others of the party, by 
clamorous noises to divert us from the prosecution of 
our charge against him , which they so effectually per- 
formed that they would not suffer the charge to be 
heard, though often attempted to be read. 

As this rude behavior of theirs was a cause of grief 
to me, so afterwards, when I understood that they used 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 353 

all evasive tricks to avoid another meeting with us, and 
refused to do us right, my spirit was greatly stirred at 
their injustice, and in the sense thereof, willing, if pos- 
sible, to provoke them to more fair and manly dealing, 
I let fly a brcfadside at them, in a single sheet of paper, 
under the title of '^A Fresh Pursuit " ', in which, having 
restated the controversy between them and us, and re- 
inforced our charge of forgery, etc. against Thomas 
Hicks and his abettors, I offered a fair challenge to 
them (not only to Thomas Hicks himself, but to all 
those his compurgators who had before undertaken to 
acquit him from our charge, together with their com- 
panion Jeremy Ives) to give me a fair and public meet- 
ing, in which I would make good our charge against 
him as princijjal, and all the rest of them as accesso- 
ries. But nothing could provoke them to come fairly 
forth. 

Hitherto the war I had been engaged in was in a sort 
foreign, with people of other religious persuasions, 
such as were open and avowed enemies ; but now an- 
other sort of war arose, an intestine war, raised by 
some among ourselves ; such as had once been of us, 
and yet retained the same profession, and would have 
been thought to be of us still ; but having, through 
ill-grounded jealousies, let in discontents, and there- 
upon fallen into jangling, chiefly about church disci- 
pline, they at length broke into an open schism, 
headed by two Northern men of name and note, John 
Wilkinson and John Story. The latter of whom, 
as being the most active and popular man, having 
gained a considerable interest in the West, carried the 
controversy with him thither, and there spreading it,- 
drew many, too many, to abet him therein. 

Among those, William Rogers, a merchant of Bris- 



354 THE LIFE OF 

tol, was not the least, nor least accounted of, by himself 
and some others. He was a bold and an active man, 
moderately learned, hut immoderately conceited of his 
own parts and abilities, which made him forward to en- 
gage, as thinking none would dare to take up the gaunt- 
let he should cast down. This high opinion of himself 
made him rather a troublesome than a formidable enemy. 

That I may here step over the various steps by 
which he advanced to open hostility (as what I was not 
actually or personally engaged in), he in a while ar- 
rived to that height of folly and wickedness, that he 
wrote and published a large book in five parts, to 
which he maliciously gave for a title, '' The Christian 
Quaker distinguished from the Apostate and Innova- 
tor"; thereby arrogating to himself and those who 
were of his party, the topping style of '^ Christian 
Quaker," and no less impiously than uncharitably 
branding and rejecting all others, even the main body 
of Friends, for apostates and innovators. 

When this book came abroad, it was not a little (and 
he for its sake) cried up by his injudicious admirers, 
whose applause setting his head afloat, he came up to 
London at the time of the Yearly Meeting then follow- 
ing, and at the close thereof, gave notice in writing to 
this effect, viz. that ''if any were dissatisfied with his 
book, he was there ready to maintain and defend both it 
and himself against all comers." This daring challenge 
was neither dreaded nor slighted, but an answer was 
forthwith returned in writing, signed by a few Friends, 
amongst whom I was one, to let him know that, as many 
were dissatisfied with his book and him, he should not 
fail, God willing, to be raet by the sixth hour, next 
morning, at the meeting-place, at Devonshire House. 

Accordingly we met, and continued the meeting till 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 355 

noon or after, in which time he, surrounded with such 
of his own party as might abet and assist him, was 
so fairly foiled and baffled, and so fully exposed, that 
he was glad to quit the place, and, early next morn- 
ing, the town also ; leaving, in excuse for his going so 
abruptly oflP, and thereby refusing us another meeting 
with him, which we had earnestly provoked him to, 
this slight shift, that he had before given earnest for 
his passage in the stage-coach home, and was not will- 
ing to lose it." 

I had before this gotten a sight of his book, and 
procured one for my use on this occasion, but I had 
not time to read it through ; but a while after, Prov- 
idence cast another of them into my hands v<ery un- 
expectedly, for our dear friend George Fox, passing 
through this country among Friends, and lying in his 
journey at my house, had one of them in his bags, 
which he had made some marginal notes upon. For 
that good man, like Julius Caesar, willing to improve 
all parts of his time, did usually, even in his travels, 
dictate to his amanuensis what he would have com- 
mitted to writing. I knew not that he had this book 
with him, for he had not said anything to me of it, 
till going in the morning into his chamber, while he 
was dressing himself, I found it lying on the table by' 
him. And, understanding that he was going but for 
a few weeks, to visit Friends in the meetings here- 
abouts, and the neighboring parts of Oxford and Berk- 
shire, and so return through this county again, I 
made bold to ask him if he would favor me so much 
as to leave it with me till his return, that I might 
have the opportunity of reading it through. He con- 
sented, and as soon almost as he was gone, I set 
myself to read it over. But I had not gone far in it, 



356 THE LIFE OF 

ere, observing the many foul falsehoods, malicious 
slanders, gross perversions, and false doctrines, abound- 
ing in it, the sense thereof inflamed my breast with a 
just and holy indignation against the work, and that 
devilish spirit in which it was brought forth ; where- 
fore, finding my spirit raised, and my understanding 
divinely opened to refute it, I began the book again, 
and reading it with pen in hand, answered it para- 
graphically as I went. And so clear were the open- 
ings I received from the Lord therein, that by the time 
my friend came back, I had gone through the greatest 
part of it, and was too far engaged in spirit to think 
of giving over the work ; wherefore, requesting him 
to continue the book a little longer with me, I soon 
after finished the answer, which, with Friends' appro- 
bation, was printed, under the title of ''An Antidote 
against the Infection of William Rogers's Book, mis- 
called ' The Christian Quaker,' " etc. This was writ- 
ten in the year 1682. But no answer was given to it, 
so far as I have ever heard, either by him or any other 
of his party, though many others were concerned 
therein, and some by name. Perhaps there might be 
a hand of Providence overruling them therein, to give 
me leisure to attend some other services, which soon 
after fell upon me. 

For it being a stormy time, and persecution waxing 
hot upon the Conventicle Act, through the busy bold- 
ness of hungry informers, who for their own advan- 
tage did not only themselves hunt after religious and 
peaceable meetings, but drove on the officers, not only 
the more inferior and subordinate, but, in some places, 
even the justices also, for fear of penalties, to hunt 
with them and for them, I found a pressure upon my 
spirit to write a small treatise, to inform such officers 



THOMAS ELL WOOD. 357 

how they might secure and defend themselves from 
being ridden by tliose malapert informers and made 
their drudges. 

This treatise I called, ^^A Caution to Constables, 
and other inferior Officers, concerned in the execu- 
tion of the Conventicle Act ; with some Observations 
thereupon, humbly offered by way of Advice to such 
well-meaning and moderate Justices of the Peace, as 
M'ould not willingly ruin their peaceable Neighbors," 
etc. This was thought to have some good service 
where it came, upon such sober and moderate officers, 
as well justices as constables, etc. as acted rather by 
constraint than choice ; by encouraging them to stand 
their ground, with more courage and resolution against 
the insults of saucy informers. 

But, whatever ease it brought to others, it brought 
me some trouble, and had like to have brought me 
into more danger, had not Providence wrought my 
deliverance by an unexpected way. For as soon as 
it came forth in print, which was in the year 1683, 
one William Ayrs, of Watford, in Hertfordshire, a 
friend and acquaintance of mine, who was both an 
apothecary and barber, being acquainted with divers 
of the gentry in those parts, and going often to some 
of their houses to trim them, took one of these books 
with him when he went to trim Sir Benjamin Titch- 
bom, of Rickmans worth, and presented it to him, sup- 
posing he would have taken it kindly, as in like cases 
he had fcftmerly done. But it fell out otherwise. For 
he looking it over after Ayrs was gone, and taking it 
by the wrong handle, entertained an evil opinion of it, 
and of me for it, though he knew me not. 

He thereupon communicated both the book and his 
thoughts upon it to a neighboring justice, living in 



358 THE LIFE OF 

Rickmanswortli, whose name was Thomas Fotherly j 
who concurring with him in judgment, they concluded 
that I should he taken up and prosecuted for it, as a 
seditious hook, for alihel they could not call it, my name 
being to it at length. 

Wherefore sending for Ayre, who had hrought the 
hook, Justice Titchborn examined him if he knew me, 
au'd where I dwelt. Who telling him he knew me well, 
and had been often at my house, he gave him in charge 
to give me notice that I should appear before him and 
the other justice at Rickmansworth on such a day; 
threatening that if I did not appear, he himself should 
be prosecuted for spreading the book. 

This put William Ayrs in a fright. Over he came in 
haste with this message to me, troubled that he should 
be a means to bring me into trouble. But I endeavored 
to give him ease, by assuring him I would not fail, with 
God's leave, to appear at the time and place appointed, 
and thereby free him from trouble or danger. In the in- 
terim I received advice, by an express out of Sussex, that 
Guli Penn, with whom I had had an intimate acquaint- 
ance and firm friendship from our very youths, was 
very dangerously ill, her husband being then absent in 
Pennsylvania, and that she had a great desire to see 
and speak with me. 

This put me to a great strait, and brought a sore 
exercise on my mind. I was divided betwixt honor 
and friendship. I had engaged my word to appear be- 
fore the justices ; which to omit would brin^ dishonor 
on me and my profession. To stay till that time was 
come and past might probably prove, if I should then 
be left at liberty, too late to answer her desire, and 
satisfy friendship. 

After some little deliberation, I resolved, as the best 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 359 

expedient to answer both, ends, to go over next morning 
to the justices, and lay my strait before them, and try 
if I could procure from them a respite of my appearance 
before them, until I had been in Sussex, and paid the 
duty of friendship to my sick friend : which I had the 
more hopes to obtain because I knew those justices had 
a great respect for Guli ; for when William Penn and 
she were first married they lived for some years at 
Kickmansworth, in M'^hich time they contracted a neigh- 
borly friendship with both these justices and theirs, 
who ever after retained a kind regard for them both. 

Early therefore in the morning I rode over. But 
being wholly a stranger to the justices, I went first to 
Watford, that I might take Ayrs along with me, who 
supposed himself to have some interest in Justice 
Titchborn ; and when I came there, understanding that 
another Friend of that town, whose name was John 
Wells, was well acquainted with the other justice, 
Fotherly, having imparted to them the occasion of 
my coming, I took them both with me, and hasted 
back to Rickmansworth. Where, having put our 
horses up at an inn, and leaving William Ayrs (who 
was a stranger to Fotherly) there, I went with John 
Wells to Fotherly's house ; and being brought into a 
fair hall, I tarried there while Wells went into the par- 
lor to liiui ; and having acquainted him that I was 
there, and desired to speak with him, brought him to 
me with severity in his countenance. 

After he had asked me, in a tone which spake dis- 
pleasure, what I had to say to him, I told him I came 
to wait on him upou an intimation given me that he 
had something to say to me. He thereupon, plucking 
my book out of his pocket, asked me if I owned my- 
self to be the author of that book. I told him, if he 



360 THE LIFE OF 

pleased to let me look into it, if it were mine I would 
not deny it. He thereupon giving it into my hand, 
when I had turned over the leaves and looked it 
through, finding it to he as it came from the press, I 
told him I wrote the book, and would own it, all but 
the errors of the press. Whereupon he, looking sternly 
on me, answered, '^ Your own errors you should have 
said." 

Having innocency on my side, I was not at all 
daunted at either his speech or looks ; but, feeling the 
Lord present with me, I replied, '- 1 know there are 
errors of the press in it, and therefore I excepted them ; 
but I do not know there are any of mine in it, and 
therefore cannot except them. But," added I, ''if 
thou pleasest to show me any error of mine in it, I 
shall readily both acknowledge and retract it " : and 
thereupon I desired him to give me an instance in any 
oife passage in that book, wherein he thought I had 
erred. He said he needed not go to particulars, but 
charged me with the general contents of the whole 
book. I replied that such a charge would be too 
general for me to give a particular answer to ; but if 
he would assign me any particular passage or sentence 
in the book, wherein he apprehended the ground of 
offence to lie, when I should have opened the terms^ 
and explained my meaning therein, he might perhaps 
find cause to change his mind, and entertain a better 
opinion both of the book and me. And therefore I 
again entreated him to let me know what particular 
passage or passages had given him offence. He told me 
I needed not to be in so much haste for that ; I might 
have it timely enough, if not too soon: "but this," 
said he, " is not the day appointed for your hearing ; 
and therefore," added he, "what, I pray, made you in 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 361 

such haste to come now 1" I told him I hoped he 
would not take it for an argument of guilt, that I came 
before I was sent for, and offered myself to my purga- 
tion before the time appointed. And this I spake with 
someM^hat a brisker air, which had so much influence 
on him as to bring a somewhat softer air over his 
countenance. 

Then going on, I told him I had a particular occa- 
sion which induced me to come now, which was, that 
I received advice last night, by an express out of Sus- 
sex, that William Penn's wife, with whom I had had 
an intimate acquaintance and strict friendship, ah ipsis 
fere incunabulis,* at least a teneris unguiculis,f lay 
now there very ill, not without great danger, in the 
apprehension of those about her, of her life ; and that 
she had expressed her desire that I would come to her 
as soon as I could ; the rather, for that her husband 
was absent in America. That this had brought a great 
strait upon me, being divided between friendship and 
duty ; willing to visit my friend in her illness, which 
the nature and law of friendship required ; yet unwill- 
ing to omit my duty by failing of my appearance 
before him and the other justice, according to their 
command and my promise ', lest I should thereby sub- 
ject, not my own reputation only, but the reputation 
of my religious profession to the suspicion of guilt, 
aud censure of willingly shunning a trial. To prevent 
which I had chosen to anticipate the time, and come 
now, to see if I could give them satisfaction in what 
they had to object against me, and thereupon being 
dismissed, might pursue my journey into Sussex; or 
if by them detained, to submit to Providence, and by 
an express to acquaint my friend tlierewith, both to 

* Almost from our cradle. t From our tender a^e. 



862 THE LIFE OF 

free her from an expectation of my coming, and my- 
self from any imputation of neglect. 

While I thus delivered myself, I ohserved a sensible 
alteration in the justice ; and when I had done speak- 
ing, he first said he was very sorry for Madam Penn's 
illness, of whose virtue and worth he spake very 
highly, yet not more than was her due. Then he told 
me, that for her sake he would do what he could to 
further my visit to her ; ''hut," said he, ''I am hut 
one, and of myself can do nothing in itj therefore you 
must go to Sir Benjamin Titchborn, and if he he at 
home, see if you can prevail with him to meet me, 
that we may consider of it. 

''But I can assure you," added he, "the matter 
which will be laid to your charge concerning your 
book is of greater importance than you seem to think 
it. For your book has been laid before the king and 
council ; and the Earl of Bridgewater, who is one of 
the council, hath thereupon given us command to ex- 
amine you about it, and secure you." 

" I Mdsh," said I, " I could speak with the earl my- 
self, for I make no doubt but to acquaint myself unto 
him ; and," added I, " if thou pleasest to give me thy 
letter to him, I will wait upon him with it forthwith. 
For although I know," continued I, " that he hath no 
favor for any of my persuasion, yet knowing myself 
to be wholly innocent in this matter, I can with confi- 
dence appear before him, or even before the king in 
council." 

" Well," said he, " I see you are confident ', but for 
all that, let me tell you, how good soever your inten- 
tion was, you timed the publishing of your book very 
unluckily ; for you cannot be ignorant that there is a 
very dangerous plot lately discovered, contrived by the 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 363 

dissenters, against the government and his majesty's 
life." (This was the Rye-plot, then newly broke 
forth, and laid upon the Presbyterians.) '' And for 
you," added he, '' to publish a book just at that junc- 
ture of time to discourage the magistrates and other 
officers from putting in execution those laws which 
were made to suppress their meetings, looks, I must 
tell you, but with a scurvy countenance upon you." 

'' If," replied I, with somewhat a pleasanter air, 
''there was any mistiming in the case, it must lie 
on the part of those plotters, for timing the breaking 
forth of their plot while my book was a printing ; for 
I can bring very good proof that my book was in the 
press, and wellnigh wrought off, before any man 
talked or knew of a plot, but those who were in it." 

Here our discourse ended, and I, taking for the pres- 
ent my leave of him, went to my horse, and, changing 
iny companion, rode to Justice Titchborn's, having with 
me William Ayrs, who was best acquainted with him, 
and who had casually brought this trouble on me. 
When he had introduced me to Titchborn, I gave him 
a like account of the occasion of my coming at that 
time, as I had before given to the other justice. And 
both he and his lady, who was present, expressed much 
concern for Guli Penn's illness. I found this man to 
be of quite another temper than Justice Fotherly ; for 
this man was smooth, soft, and oily, whereas the other 
was rather rough, severe, and sharp. Yet, at the wind- 
ing up, I found Fotherly my truest friend. 

When I had told Sir Benjamin Titchborn that I 
came from Justice Fotherly, and requested him to give 
him a meeting to consider of my business, he readily 
without hesitation told me he would go with me to 
Kickmansworth, from which his house was distant 



364 THE LIFE OF 

about a mile ; and, calling for his horses, mounted 
immediately ; and to Rickmansworth we rode. 

After they had been a little while together, I was 
called in before them ; and in the first place they 
examined me as to '' what was my intention and 
design in writing that book." I told them the in- 
troductory part of it gave a plain account of it, viz. 
'' That it was to get ease from the penalties of a severe 
law, — often executed with too great a severity by un- 
skilful olHcers, who were driven on beyond the bounds 
of their duty, by the impetuous threats of a sort of inso- 
lent fellows, as needy as greedy, who, for their own 
advantage, sought our ruin." To prevent which was 
the design and drift of that book, by acquainting such 
officers how they might safely demean themselves in 
the execution of their offices, towards their honest 
and peaceable neighbors, without ruining either their 
neighbors or themselves, to enrich some of the worst 
of men. And I humbly conceived it was neither un- 
lawful nor unreasonable for a sufferer to do this, so 
long as it was done in a fair, sober, and peaceable way. 

They then put me in mind of the plot ; told me it 
was a troublesome and dangerous time, and my book 
might be construed to import sedition, in discouraging 
the officers fi-om putting the laws in execution, as by 
law and by their oath they were bound. And in fine 
they brought it to this issue, that they were directed to 
secure me by a commitment to prison until the assize, 
at which I should receive a farther charge than they 
were provided now to give me ', but because they were 
desirous to forward my visit to Madam Penn, they told 
me they would admit me to bail, and therefore, if I 
would enter a recognizance, with sufficient sureties, for 
my appearance at the next assize, they would leave me 
at liberty to go on my joumey. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 365 

I told them I could not do it. They said they would 
give me as little trouhle as they could, and therefore 
they would not put me to seek bailj but would accept 
those two friends of mine, who were then present, to 
be bound with me for my appearance. 

I let them know my strait lay not in the difficulty of 
procuring sureties, for I did suppose myself to have 
sufficient acquaintance and credit in that place, if on 
such an occasion I could be free to use it ; but, as I 
knew myself to be an innocent man, I had not satis- 
fciction in myself to desire others to be bound for me, or 
to enter myself into a recognizance ; that carrying in it, 
to my apprehension, a reflection on my innocency, and 
the reputation of my Christian profession. 

Here we stuck and struggled about this a pretty 
while, till at length, finding me fixed in my judgment, 
and resolved rather to go to prison than give bail, 
they asked me if I was against appearing, or only 
against being bound with sureties to appear. I told 
them I was not against appearing ; which as I could 
not avoid if I would, so I would not if I might ; but 
was ready and willing to appear, if required, to answer 
whatsoever should be charged against me. But in any 
case of a religious nature, or wherein my Christian 
profession was concerned, which I took this case to be, 
I could not yield to give any other or farther security 
than my word or promise as a Christian. 

They, unwilling to commit me, took hold of that 
and asked if I would promise to appear. I answered, 
'^Yes; with due limitations." ''What do you mean 
by due limitations'?" said they. ''I mean," replied 
I; "if I am not disabled or prevented by sickness or 
imprisonment; for," added I, ''as you allege that it is 
a troublesome time, I perhaps may find it so. I may 



366 THE LIFE OF 

for aught I know be seized and imprisoned elsewhere 
on the same account for which I now stand here "before 
you ; and if I should, how then could I appear at the 
assize in this county?" ^'0," said they, ^' these are 
due limitations indeed ! Sickness or imprisonment are 
lawful excuses, and if either of these befall you, we 
shall not expect your appearance here; but then you 
must certify to us that you are so disabled by sickness 
or restraint." 

" But," said I, ^'how shall I know when and "u^here 
I shall wait upon you again after my return from 
Sussex ? " '^ You need not," said they, '' trouble 
yourself about that; we will take care to give you 
notice of both time and place, and till you hear from 
us you may dispose yourself as you please." 

" Well, then," said I, '* I do promise you that, when 
I shall have received from you a fresh command to 
appear before you, I will, if the Lord permit me life, 
health, and liberty, appear when and where you shall 
appoint." ''It is enough," said they ; ''we will take 
your word." And, desiring me to give their hearty 
respects and service to Madam Penn, they dismissed, 
me with their good wishes for a good journey. 

I was sensible that in this they had dealt very favor- 
ably and kindly with me ; therefore I could not but 
acknowledge to them the sense I had thereof. Which 
done, I took leave of them, and, mounting, returned 
home with what haste I could, to let my wife 'know 
how I had sped. And, having given her a summary 
account of the business, I took horse again, and went 
so far that evening towards Worminghurst that I got 
thither pretty early next morning, and, to my great 
satisfaction, found my friend in a hopeful way towards 
a recovery. 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 367 

I stayed some days with her ; and then, finding her 
illness wear daily oflF, and some other friends being 
come from London to visit her, I (mindful of my en- 
gagement to the justices, and unwilhng by too long an 
absence to give them occasion to suspect I was willing 
to avoid their summons), leaving those other friends to 
bear her company longer, took my leave of her and 
them, and set my face homewards, carrying with me 
the welcome account of my friend's recovery. 

Being returned home, I waited in daily expectation 
of a command from the justices to appear again before 
them, but none came. I spake with those Friends 
who had been with me when I was before them, and 
they said they had heard nothing of it from them, 
although they had since been in company with them. 
At length the assize came, but no notice was given to 
me that I should appear there; in fine, they never 
troubled themselves nor me any farther about it. 

Thus was a cloud, that looked black and threatened 
a great storm, blown gently over by a providential 
breath, which I could not but, with a thankful mind, 
acknowledge to the all-great, all-good, all-wise Dis- 
poser, in whose hand and at whose command are the 
hearts of all men, even the greatest ; and who turns 
their counsels, disappoints their purposes, and defeats 
their designs and contrivances, as he pleases. For if 
my dear friend Gruli Penn had not Mien sick, if I had 
not thereupon been sent for to her, I had not prevented 
the time of my appearance, but had appeared on ths 
day appointed ; and, as I afterwards understood, that 
was the day appointed for the appearance of a great 
many persons of the dissenting party in that side of the 
county, who were to be taken iip and secured, on the 
account of the aforementioned plot, which had been 



368 THE LIFE OF 

cast upon the Presbyterians. So that if I had then 
appeared with and amongst them, I had in all likelihood 
been sent to jail with them for company, and that 
under the imputation of a plotter, than which nothing 
was more contrary to my profession and inclination. 

But though I came off so easy, it fared not so well 
with others ; for, the storm increasing, many Friends in 
divers parts, both of city and country, suffered greatly ; 
the sense whereof did deeply affect me, and the more, 
for that I observed the magistrates, not thinking the 
laws which had been made against us severe enough, 
perverted the law in order to punish us. For, calling 
our peaceable meetings riots (which, in the legal notion 
of thie word '' riot," is a contradiction in terms) they in- 
dicted our Friends as rioters for only sitting in a meet- 
ing, though nothing was there either said or done by 
them, and then set fines on them at pleasure. 

This I knew to be not only against right and justice, 
but even against law ; and it troubled me to think that 
we should be made to suffer not only by laws made 
directly against us, but even by laws that did not at all 
concern us. Nor was it long before I had occasion 
offered more thoroughly to consider this matter. 

For a justice of the peace in this county, who was 
called Sir Dennis Hampson, of Taplow, breaking in 
with a party of horse upon a little meeting near 
Wooburn, in his neighborhood, the first of the fifth 
month, 1683, sent most of the men, to the number of 
twenty-three, whom he found there, to Aylesbury 
prison, though most of them were poor men who 
lived by their labor; and, not going himself to the 
next quarter sessions at Buckingham, on the 12th of' 
the same month, sent his clerk, with direction that 
they should be indicted for a not. Thither the pris- 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 369 

oners were carried, and indicted accordingly ; and, 
being pressed by the court to traverse and give bail, 
they moved to be tried forthwith, but that was denied 
them. And they, giving in writing the reason of 
their refusing bail and fees, were remanded to prison 
till the next quarter- sessions ; but William Wood- 
house was again bailed, as he had been before ; and 
William Mason and John Eeeve, not being Friends, 
but casually taken at that meeting, entered recogni- 
zance as the court desired, and so were released till 
next sessions ; before which time Mason died, and 
Eeeve being sick appeared not, but got himself taken 
off. And in the eighth month following, the twenty- 
one prisoners that remained were brought to trial ; a 
jury was found who brought in a pretended verdict 
that they were guilty of a riot, for only sitting peace- 
ably together, without a word or action ; and though 
there was no proclamation made, nor they required 
to depart. But one of the jurymen afterwards did 
confess he knew not what a riot was ; yet the pris- 
oners were fined a noble apiece, and recommitted 
to prison during life (a hard sentence) or the king's 
pleasure, or until they should pay the said fines. 
WiUiam Woodhouse was forthwith discharged, by his 
kinsman's paying the fine and fees for him. Thomas 
Dell and Edward Moore also, by other people of the 
world paying their fines and fees for them ; and shortly 
after Stephen Pewsey, by the town and parish where 
he lived, for fear his wife and children should become 
a charge upon them. The other seventeen remained 
prisoners till King James's proclamation of pardon. 

THE END. 

Cambridge : Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 



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